Parts of a Whole
by Umbrella-ella
Summary: There is joy, there is heartbreak, but in between, in those small moments that define us, there is true love. The story of Anna and Mr. Bates, told in multiple installments.
1. Letting Go

_A/N: Downton Abbey is the absolute perfect show. If I could watch one show for the rest of my life, it'd be this one. Really, this show— it just blows my mind how much emotion can be packed into a simple look or word, especially between Anna and Mr. Bates, because let's face it, they're meant to be together. Hopefully, all of that chemistry and beauty between them translates here. This will be a one-shot/drabble collection centering on Anna and Bates, so I plan to add to it periodically throughout the coming weeks, until I hit twenty-five or fifty. Please feel free to leave reviews. The oneshots won't always be in chronological order, but I hope you enjoy them nonetheless. Know that each review I get will be taken in consideration. Okay, I'm done with my mini-rant now. Enjoy!_

_Disclaimer: I own nothing but my laptop, a large collection of assorted teas, and an adorable cat who gets away with far too much. _

Anna woke from her blissful sleep, sunlight washing over her face, filtering through the lace curtains and warming her cheeks. Taking a deep breath, she sighed as she stretched, yawning slightly. As she blinked against the intruding rays of natural light, Anna flushed as she recalled the events of the night before, her cheeks flaming with red-hot embarrassment.

A year of physical neglect had been nothing short of torture for the both of them, but it seemed that Mr. Bates had been more than keen to correct that whenever he could.

Maneuvering now after a night as passionate as theirs proved to be difficult, what with her legs entangled in the sheets and her husband's arm slung over her waist, but Anna didn't care. She was content to be still, and listen to the quiet tempo of her husband's heart and the sigh of his breath against her shoulder. Her fingers trailed up to John's own, where they intertwined with his own digits with a practiced ease that spoke of years of commitment and love.

Lady Mary and His Lordship had been kind enough to give them three weeks off at half-pay, to help them get reacquainted with one another, in His Lordship's words. Anna stifled a giggle as she pictured His Lordship's face turning a violent shade of pink as he spoke, trying desperately to remain the pillar of propriety.

Though John had been out of prison for a nearly month already, Anna couldn't help but revel at the sensation of his fingers splayed on her bare hip. His hands seemed to set her aflame, even when his touches were innocent.

Anna's every nerve was alight with the sensation of him, of his nearness, of his breaths coming and going in a relaxed rhythm, of his naked body pressed against hers— of the automatic twitch of his fingers around hers when she held his hand, even though he was lost to the waking world, slumbering comfortably by her side. Anna felt the cool metal of his wedding band beneath her fingertips and she let a small smile turn the corners of her lips. The hardened calluses on his palms didn't bother her, despite her husband's frequently voiced worries. They were a reminder of all he had been through in the past year and yet, she told him, she didn't mind them at all.

In fact, she quite enjoyed them. The gentle caresses he adorned her with, be it a brush of the hand against the small of her back in passing, or the pad of his thumb tracing patterns on her knuckles as they held hands more than made up for any concerns he might have had. Anna usually woke before him, on days like this, when she was content to examine the many beautiful facets of her husband— after years of restraint and barriers separating them, she was determined to commit everything about him to memory, from the feeling of his lips on hers to the way his hands felt in hers.

They were married now. _For good and proper. _

Anna grinned as she thought of the wedding, how smart he had looked in his suit, and how wonderful she had felt with her hands in his. And now she was his wife again, after a year, in all the meanings of the word. He was here, by her side, where he had always belonged, and now, he was there to stay. But then, she knew in her heart that she would endure it all again if she had to.

_Anna Bates. Mrs. Bates. Mrs. John Bates. _

How wonderful it was, to be known as that. She _was_ who she was meant to be. Anna Smith was long gone, and Anna Bates was here, now and forever.

John mumbled under his breath as he shifted, letting out a great sigh that told Anna he was awake. A great yawn escaped him, and she nearly laughed at the way her husbands arms stretched out in front of her. Twisting beneath the warmth of the knotted sheets, Anna examined John's waking moments.

Blinking the sleep from his dark eyes, John met Anna's gaze and grinned toothily.

"Good morning, Mrs. Bates." John's voice was gravelly and low with sleep and Anna shuddered with pleasure. Threading her fingers through the soft hair covering his chest, she watched as he smiled.

"Good morning, Mr. Bates." Anna spoke, her smile faltering and her voice cracking with emotion. Tears threatened to spill from her eyes, but she tried to blink them away before her husband could see them. John looked so happy, here with her. His dark hair was mussed and his eyes shone with a light she could never get tired of. A tear slipped down her cheek, and she felt John's thumb wipe it away.

"Anna, my love…" John gathered Anna close and she nuzzled into his chest, hiding the tears that were sure to fall.

"No, John, I'm sorry… I'm just being silly…" Anna mumbled, feeling John's hand trail soothingly up and down her exposed arm. John clicked his tongue in protest and lifted her chin to look at her. Smoothing the tears away from her porcelain cheeks, he smiled gently.

"What is it, Anna?"

Anna dropped her head to his chest once more, trying to hide the burning shame that her fears had caused.

"Just tell me this isn't a dream, John. I don't think I could stand to wake up now and go back to living without you." she murmured, his breath hot in her ear. John sighed and drew her as close as possible, and for a moment, Anna relished in the feel of her husband's— her _John's_— skin against hers. John lifted her hand to his lips and kissed each of her knuckles gently, as if to reassure her with each kiss that this was real. Beneath her, she heard her husband's heart speed up, it's rapid tempo drumming out a continuous beat.

"Is that real?" he muttered, his Irish brogue breaking through in his intonation. He threaded his free hand through her hair, and she sighed at the contact.

"And this? Is this real, my love?" He guided her hand back down to rest over his heartbeat, so that she could feel it beneath her fingers. Anna kept her face hidden from view, her head resting comfortably in the crook of his neck.

"I do believe you've married a fool, Mr. Bates."

She felt a chuckle rumble in his chest and John stroked her hair once more. Sniffling slightly, Anna smiled weakly, brushing away the last of her tears with the swipe of her hand.

"No one is a fool here. I understand the feelings you have, more so than you might think. Some days I'm so overwhelmed by the fact that I'm here now with you, all I want to do is hold you in my arms and never let you go. But then," he added cheekily, "we wouldn't get much done, would we? I'll always be here, Anna, until death do us part… Remember that." His thumb stroked small patterns on the creamy pale skin of her shoulder as she hummed in agreement.

For a few moments, they remained silent, communicating more in simple stillness than they ever could in words, before Anna propped herself on her elbows and contented herself with gazing into the eyes that had been her undoing. Arching an eyebrow, she spoke, fearless and ever confident.

"Hold me? Is that it?"

John's eyes widened before he responded with a wolfish grin.

"Well, that, among other things, but I'd have to show you." As John pressed his lips to hers ardently, all thoughts of the past were pushed aside as Anna lost herself in the pleasures of the present and thoughts of the future.

_A/N: So, what did you think? I'm absolutely up for any prompts you might want to see, and as always, __constructive__ criticism is valued! Review below!_


	2. Taking Initiative

_A/N: Thank you so much for your enthusiastic reviews! I'm very glad to have stumbled into this community. Please feel free to leave reviews. The oneshots won't always be in chronological order, but I hope you enjoy them nonetheless. Know that each review I get will be taken in consideration. Not all of these will be fluffy oneshots or drabbles, but in the meantime, do enjoy it! This one is sort of fluffy, but there's a bit of angst thrown in._

_Disclaimer: I own nothing but my laptop, a large collection of assorted teas, and an adorable cat who gets away with far too much._

**August 1913**

John Bates was not an emotional man in any sense of the word, so to say the very least, he was stunned— thrilled, even— when Anna had taken the initiative. She was so brave, he shouldn't have expected anything less.

_I'm not a lady, Mr. Bates. _

A smile turned up the corners of his mouth as the cart jolted him along, the hay beside him rustling and the wheels clattering along noisily. She may not be a lady in the true sense of the word, but he would treat her as one, would give her the respect she was due. He loved her, of course.

Of course he did.

He had known for quite some time.

Perhaps it was the sight of her all those months ago during the night of the fair, pink-cheeked and puffy-eyed, hair braided sloppily that made him realize it. Or perhaps even before, when she sought him out in his room, offering him a tray of food. Then again, it wasn't much more than a simple tray of food, but to him, it was so much more.

It was the start of _them_.

He hated his circumstances. John couldn't be close to her, not like this, not while he was still… married. The thought of it turned his stomach. He loved Anna and yet… he could not bear to bring her the shame of loving a married man. He felt ashamed, accepting her love, and yet, simultaneously, he took it gladly, greedily. A weak smile graced his lips, not quite reaching his eyes. John watched as Anna followed behind him, her steps keeping time with the distance he travelled ahead. His heart clenched as he realized she would be there, just as she always had been before— always close behind him, just there, waiting for him. If she knew… if she found out— _dear God in Heaven, please let her be spared the pain of his past._

He could just see her reaction now, her tortured face, her beautiful eyes sparkling with hot tears, and a part of his heart broke. If she only knew…

Lifting his eyes back to her, he smiled, watching as she kept on, still there, still never letting doubt falter her step.

How strong she was, how noble.

And yet, how strong, how noble would she be when she found out the truth?

But no, for now, it was enough to be near her, to love her quietly, in the privacy of his sheltered heart.

For now, that was enough.

_You are a lady to me. _

_A/N: Leave a review. As always, feedback is appreciated!_


	3. Midnight Reassurances

_A/N: Thank you so much for all of your encouraging reviews! This is probably one of my favorites, simply because we really get to see Mr. Bates at his most vulnerable, when he really can't hide from Anna. And Anna respects that vulnerability and doesn't let him shy away. She embraces it as part of him, and loves him for it, not in spite of it. As always, I'm open to prompt suggestions, so please, feel free to PM me with any ideas you might want to see. _

_Disclaimer: I own nothing but my laptop, a large collection of assorted teas, and an adorable cat who gets away with far too much. _

The nights at Downton were chilly these days, what with the winter air biting at the ankles of everyone who remained awake at this hour, and yet fires warmed every home on the ground, so few were awake. John Bates, unfortunately, was one of those few people. Despite the warmth of his dearest wife beside him, he struggled to let himself submit to the slumber that settled low over the grounds of Downton. Instead, he shifted restlessly, careful to remain still enough so as not to disturb a sleeping Anna.

_Anna._ His lips curled into a smile, despite his discomfort. In just a few short weeks, she would be a mother, and he would be a father.

Doubt had clouded his mind in the first few weeks of Anna's pregnancy, but Anna was sure to spend every moment of her time erasing those doubts, reassuring him in ways that only a wife could. His smile grew as he let a hand rest on her protruding belly. As small and as fragile as she was, he was worried ten-fold about how her body, so delicate, could handle such a painful process. Of course, he had heard stories, he had heard nightmarish tales of child birthing from the housemaids up at the big house, but he hadn't thought of the implications when it came to Anna. Until today, of course. Today it had all come crashing down around him.

How could he do this? How could he possibly be a good father? Anna, of course, had simply lifted her hand to his cheek and with a tearful smile, spoke.

_"Because I wouldn't have married you if I didn't believe in you— in us."_ And then, with a smile and a wink, she had left him feeling much more light-hearted then he had been. But now, in the darkness of the night, the terrors he had felt earlier collapsed upon him, worse than any nightmare that the shadows of his mind could concoct.

Shuddering (whether from the cold air or his fears), John curled his body around Anna, threading his fingers through her golden hair. Even in the darkest of times, his wife stood by him steadfastly, her presence ever comforting. Anna was practical, to put it lightly— she could weather any storm, including the whirlwind tempest of her husband's fears on becoming a father, settling them as quickly as they had sprung up, ever the calm before the storm.

His right hand came up to rest on her swollen stomach and he smiled.

Their baby.

Evidence of their passion— of the truest form of love.

A lump rose in his throat and he tried to swallow past it, his throat clenching with emotion. Tears sprang to his eyes. What had he done that was so wonderful in this world? What had he done to deserve this- such a happy life?

Clearing his throat lightly, he turned and wiped the tears away.

What a foolish man he was.

"John?" A hand on his shoulder, his wife's concerned voice breaking through his barriers.

John shuffled, turning back, facing his wife.

"Do you really think I'll be a good father, Anna?" John watched her face, a small strip of moonlight illuminating her pale face. Her hand, small and soft, pressed against his chest, teasing the dark curls that covered his broad torso. "Oh, you silly man… I _know_ it."

"But I don't even know how to hold a baby, let alone care for one. What if I… What if I'm a bad father? You know my childhood, Anna." A frown darkened his wife's beautiful face, and he immediately wished he hadn't said it.

"John Bates, don't you _dare_ say that again," Anna hissed, her frown deepening before she continued, "You will not be like your father. Have you once turned to the comfort of another woman's arms? Have you ever hurt me? Will you ever lay a hand on our child?" Anna's voice raised with each declaration so that she was no longer whispering by the end. He felt shamed at his unfounded supposition with every word that dropped from her lips, his eyes lowering instead to the hollow of her throat.

John let out a heaving sigh before laying back on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

"You're right. I'm sorry, Anna, I'm being ridiculous. I'm... I'm just so afraid. I don't— I don't know what to do. I see Branson struggle every day with Sybil and I just…" John swallowed hard, tears burning in his eyes, "I don't want to lose you, Anna. I can't bear the thought of… of being here without you."

This time, it was Anna's turn to look at him. Lifting her head from the pillow, she rose to meet his gaze, her hair tumbling down her shoulder, glistening in the luminescent light.

"You won't. I'm not going anywhere, John. I can promise you that. You're stuck with me now." Anna's voice cracked at the end, a tear slipping down her cheek.

"For good and proper?" John asked, his voice unnaturally tiny in the small room, as if he were almost afraid to ask, afraid that perhaps she might affirm his deepest fears.

"Remember; for richer, for poorer, for better, for worse," Anna spoke, the words slow and steady as his fears ebbed away. Smoothing the crease on his forehead she knew so well— the one that showed itself only when he was dreadfully worried— her cool fingertips pressed to his cheek in a comforting gesture, and he leaned his face into it, accepting what comfort he could from her words and touch. Her hand then sought the warmth of his as she leaned into him, pressing herself to him, desperate to keep warm. He shuddered at the contact of her smooth, cool skin to his own heated, sweat-slickened skin, though he couldn't quite guarantee that his reaction stemmed from merely the chill in the air. Dragging her other hand through the thick, soft hair that covered the broad expanse of his chest, Anna smiled.

How such a gentle heart could have been hidden beneath the many layers of a housemaid's uniform he would never know and yet, somehow, it thrilled him to no end that he was hers and that she was his—to know that they— his person, her person, her future, and his future— had become one so intensely, so wholly, that not even the most insurmountable of obstacles could keep them apart. In the most private of ways, they had shared their love, and in the most public of ways, they had declared it.

Early on during their 'honeymoon' phase, as it would come to be known, after his release from prison, John learned a few things about his wife, which she had eagerly imparted to him: Anna didn't believe in faery tales, and most certainly considered herself a practical person. But then, her love for her husband hadn't been borne out of a need to satisfy a school girl dream of princesses and princes, but rather out of a need for _him._ Anna needed him, plain and simple, like she needed water to quench her thirst or bread to sate her hunger. Ever the pragmatist, Anna focused on her necessities, and by God, she had never needed anything or anyone like she needed John Bates.

At least she told him as much.

John's chuckle vibrated in his throat at the memory of her, her hair tousled in every which way while her face held a firm resolve that made him shake.

"Penny for your thoughts, love?" Anna's breath ghosted across his cheek and he smiled.

"I was merely thinking of how much I love you— You do know how much I love you... and the baby, right?" His voice was low and the room was quiet for a moment, the only sound came from the sheets as they shifted with Anna, who tucked herself deeper into his side.

His fingers threaded through her hair with ease and he watched as she closed her eyes at the touch, so familiar and so very loved.

"Mmmm… I do. I also know that you'll be a dear in the morning and let me wake up on my own. It is my day off, after all." Anna let a small smile settle on her lips, knowing he would grant her nothing less than what she desired.

"_Our_ day, mind you. But, yes, of course. I could think of nothing better than to wake with you by my side, sleeping until we see fit. Tomorrow afternoon, we'll go into Ripon and get the paint for the nursery… What color would you like? A light blue? Yellow? Or perhaps a nice, airy green?" Realizing he was rambling, he halted, waiting for her response.

After a few moments of silence, John glanced down at his wife, chuckling at the sight of her curled into his side, sleep having claimed her sometime ago. With a sigh, John pulled the sheet up around him and pulled his Anna as close as possible and finally let slumber take him, all worries forgotten.

_A/N: I'm very proud of this one, so I hope you all review and tell me your thoughts!_


	4. Perfection

_A/N: John Bates ruminates on the meaning of the word 'perfection'. __**This particular installment is rated **_**M **_**for suggestive content, but it's more of a precaution than anything else. **__This was a big leap away from what I usually write, but I had to write it down. I hope it's alright— let me know what you think in a review. _

_Disclaimer: I own nothing but my laptop, a large collection of assorted teas, and an adorable cat who gets away with far too much._

* * *

Anna was the epitome of perfection.

Since childhood, John had been taught that only through the art of the greatest painters could perfection be discovered. His mother, bless her, had been wrong.

The simple beauty of Anna's touch, the thrill in her subtle glances was greater than any masterpiece he might have the luxury of viewing, of that John Bates was sure.

No, nothing could be quite so perfect as the sight of his wife, no matter the circumstances. She was a work of art unlike any he had seen. The bend of her collarbone that his lips so easily sought out tasted sweet, like cinnamon, and yet there was a mysterious spice to her skin, one that made him ache for more— the delicious curve of her neck beckoned to him, and the hollow of her throat was addicting.

All it took was a light smile from her in the Servant's Hall, and he was driven mad by her. She was more desirous to him than any woman could ever hope to be. And she knew it, the wicked smiles she shot him more than enough to confirm that.

In the privacy of their home, John was captivated by the curve of her breasts, by the smooth tension that rippled beneath her ivory skin as she called his name, her hands twisting into the sheets frantically; she was exquisite.

He felt Anna's silent strength in the way she moved, purposefully— she felt achingly wonderful beneath him, her creamy skin tantalizing as he tasted her. His hands worked to memorize her, over and over again, as if he could commit every curve, every dimple, every dip in her skin, to memory. His fingertips flitted over her body; much like an artist's brush might illustrate the softened angles of her silhouette. He was nothing more than an admirer, worshipping the greatest art of all.

Anna was unaware of the power in her strides— he found that her footfalls, firm and determined, thrilled him to no end. Anna was good and pure of heart, and yet she could be courageous and powerful when she wanted to.

For the life of him, John could not fathom why such a perfect being had chosen him, but he understood now that these things were not to be questioned. She had spoken to him of it only once, after he had asked why she had picked him, of all men, and Anna had replied that he was perfect for her, that he was other half of her soul, that he was the missing piece in her life. He had smiled at her then and kissed her, accepting her answer begrudgingly. There could be nothing more perfect in his life than those words.

She was unlike any art he'd seen before, and he knew that should he be lucky enough to set eyes on the greatest painting in all of history, or read the most enticing novel in the world, nothing would compare to the perfection of his wife. Perfection was no longer a word he associated with great pieces of literature, nor did it apply the great works of art that might be found in the Louvre— instead, it applied to Anna. The way her jaw set when she was determined to get her way, the way her brow furrowed when concentrating, the way her fingers snatched his breath away with a simple sweep across his arm. Best of all, it applied to the way Anna _loved him_, her heated confessions of love hot on his skin as she lay in the shelter of his arms as the evening slipped away, the moonlight settling gloriously on her naked skin.

Anna was the most beautiful woman in the world. He told her that many times, between the passionate murmurs and gasps of their lovemaking, but she was not one to accept compliments easily. So instead, he resolved to show her how truly beautiful she was.

Her voice was like a fine bit of music that he wished would play on, especially when she drew out his surname, often accompanied by a seductive smirk— even more so when she came undone beneath him, his Christian name echoing throughout the bedroom as she shuddered one last time and stilled, a lazy smile crossing her lips. Anna defined perfection, she embodied it— and it was in these simple moments, everyday, that he couldn't bear to think of her as any less than what she was.

Perfect.

* * *

_A/N: Okay, so, I'd like to know what you all think. I'm extremely nervous about this piece; this is so far from what usually write. Review, please!_


	5. Hope

_A/N: Anna reflects on her fears and doubts. As strong as she was during John's imprisonment, there was a lot of character development for Anna that, as the audience, we didn't get to see. Even Anna, as positive and hopeful as she was, had to have doubted or feared things during this time, perhaps she even doubted herself._

_Disclaimer: I own nothing but my laptop, a large collection of assorted teas, and an adorable cat who gets away with far too much._

* * *

Perhaps this was her curse to bear, made to watch as her husband, the man she loved so dearly, wasted away behind bars, trapped in a place she could not follow. Anna's prayers failed her often, the words falling from her lips aimlessly, scattering around her, the air thick with her whispered desires and heavy with the weight of a thousand hushed amens. To wish and dream and hope, to curl in tighter around herself in the bitter cold of the winter nights wishing he was there to warm her, to dream that John was there, his breath warm on her cheek— it was a cruel trick to play, to dream of such things and wake to a reality such as the one she lived. Her curse, her burden alone. She would not trouble others with it.

Anna had told John once that she did not doubt him— not for a moment, and that much was true.

She could never doubt him.

Instead she doubted herself, the strength of her efforts to help free him.

Were they truly enough? Could she stand to face him if she failed? Could she watch as his face fell, as he cursed her very name? Could she look at him, seeing the disappointment in his eyes?

She kept these doubts and fears sealed away, in the cold of the night, solely her own to face— only in the dark solitude of her room would she allow them to overtake her as she watched the shadows drift across the wall, willing sleep to take her instead.

Even as Anna went about her daily chores, first attending to Lady Mary, and then sifting through the piles and piles of papers she had acquired in her freelance investigation, she did not— could not— let them get the best of her.

Those were thoughts for other times, other places.

In the prison, the darkness was so overwhelming, there was no place for hope it seemed, not even for a moment. John was suffering, just as much as she was, even more. She watched him as he faded away, as his resolve waned.

The light— the hope— in his eyes had nearly gone out, and so Anna resolved to bring to John what little hope she had left. She would be left with nothing, but it was worth it, just to see a bit of hope— happiness— in her husband's smile. Her last bit of hope, for him.

That much she could give him.

Tucking the scrap of paper away in her handbag after ascertaining it was the right address, she laid out her travelling dress.

The next day, Anna found herself in Audrey Bartlett's parlor, listening to a tale that gave her all the hope in the world.

Gave _them _all the hope in the world.

* * *

_A/N: I hope you liked it. Let me know!_


	6. Messy Situations

_A/N: John and Anna find themselves in a messy situation. _

_Disclaimer: I own nothing but my laptop, a large collection of assorted teas, and an adorable cat who gets away with far too much._

* * *

It had happened so quickly, John hadn't seen it coming.

April had come early, and with it, the warmth of the spring. A little over two months had passed since John's release, and he still felt a thrill at the sight of his home— _their_ home. He and Anna had been keen to remedy what opportunities for privacy they had lost in their separation, and as such, were anxious to shut themselves away from prying eyes as often as possible. Their shared half-days were few and far between, and so John made it a point to pamper Anna with whatever she desired. It was with a kind gleam in her eyes that Mrs. Hughes had bid them a good afternoon that particular day, her lips twitching upwards in a smile.

"I should think you'll want to get home quickly. It looks as though it'll storm soon. Are you sure you don't want stay here, just until the storm passes?"

"No, Mrs. Hughes. We're quite sure the rain will hold until we get home," John spoke, his voice nearly wavering when Anna shot him a saucy smirk from behind Mrs. Hughes' shoulder, leaving his imagination to run wild, knowing the silent implications of said look.

Bidding the rest of the staff good afternoon and thanking the housekeeper for her thoughtfulness, Anna's fingers entwined themselves in her husband's grasp and he led them out into the courtyard. Watching Anna was a pastime of John's, whether she was grinning, sleeping, or laughing, it was nice to know that he was the reason for her happiness now, rather than the cause of her heartbreak as he had been for so many years before. They'd not been outside for more than two minutes, enjoying the soft lull of their familiar conversation before the clouds above them darkened suddenly, and the rain began to fall.

Now, watching her laugh as the rain began to pour, he couldn't help but let his own happiness shine through. The rain began to come down harder, stinging his face as he and Anna laughed, trying to escape the worst of it. Making their way about halfway down the long road that lead to their cottage, John and Anna were soaked to the bone, but neither of them really cared. Still, under no circumstances would John allow Anna to fall ill because of his own idiocy.

Grasping Anna's hand in his own, John strode towards a grove of trees, moving as fast as his leg would allow. Turning to check on his wife, John laughed again, watching as Anna tried, and failed, to keep her hat from slipping off. A few moments of laughter echoed about them, and suddenly, he saw Anna as if the for the first time. Her hair was sopping, curls winding down her neck, her hat terribly askew, and her face alight with happiness. Extending a hand, he brushed a lock of hair away from her cheek and her eyes lifted to his, grinning in return, his ridiculous smile widening further. Her lips pressed to his cheek in a chaste kiss and she slipped away from him, running back out into the rain, her laughter echoing behind her as he chased her slowly in the pouring rain, his leg unsteady with the strain he had already put on it.

Their cottage was in view now, and John had caught Anna by the arm, looping his arm through hers, his leg aching desperately. Clinging to John, Anna shivered and tugged him along, clearly yearning to get out of the rain. After a few rapid steps, she cried out, her feet flying out from beneath her, and her weight slumped against his side, his leg crumpling uselessly underneath him and they both fell, mud spattering them, and John landed with Anna, hissing as his leg twisted uncomfortably.

"John! Are you alright?!"

Anna's voice was loud, but he could barely hear her over the sudden clap of thunder.

"Fine, so long as you're alright," he replied.

Maneuvering his leg gently, John chuckled, looking up at his wife.

His bellow of sudden laughter was so loud, it drowned out the downpour of rain and Anna lifted her hand to her cheek in embarrassment. Anna's face was spattered with mud, their graceless tumble leaving her dress streaked with mud and a blush rose up, the pink tinge nearly hidden beneath the dots of mud that decorated her face.

She laughed with him then and, between breathless wheezes, informed him that he was in much the same state she was. Their cottage wasn't too far away, just within sight now, and between gasps for air and the aches of their tumble, the couple managed to launch themselves into their home within a few minutes. The laughter died down, and John's attention was caught by Anna's violent shudders. Stowing his coat and cane near the door, John limped to where his wife stood in the dimly lit parlor, shivering.

"Oh, my dear, you're freezing," exclaimed John, fingers moving deftly over her coat buttons. His fingertips swiped her stomach, sweeping across the expanse of her damp dress, now nearly plastered to her pale skin. He could see through her dress, and a sudden jolt of need stirred, but he took his attention away from that fact, instead focusing on the task of peeling her sodden coat away from her shoulders, letting it fall with a heavy, waterlogged thump against the wooden floor. Anna had made quick work of his waistcoat, leaving it draped open, her fingers smoothing out invisible wrinkles on the front of his shirt, her fingertips setting him aflame.

Clearing his throat, he stepped around her, making to move towards the empty fireplace.

"I can't very well have you taken ill, can I? We'll have to get you warmed up," John muttered, unnerved by the feeling of his wife's eyes on his back.

A small hand stayed his wrist as he reached for the kindling, and John felt a familiar twinge of desire. Turning back to Anna, he watched as she smiled up at him, mud still streaked across her face, her hair soaked thoroughly, eyes darkening with her own desire, and she was breathtaking. A smirk turned the corner of her mouth.

"Oh, but Mr. Bates, I think we can find other ways to warm each other most thoroughly, don't you think?" The sentence was barely out of her mouth before his lips covered hers, her hands working furiously against the buttons of his dress shirt. John pulled away for a moment, a question forming.

"What about a bath later? There's only enough water to fill the tub once."

"Exactly." With a devilish smirk, Anna ended the conversation, sealing her lips to his in a passionate kiss, and any further discussion ceased, the slap of wet clothes meeting the floor the only audible sounds henceforth.

* * *

_A/N: This was fun to write— fluff is always fun. Hope you enjoyed it as much as I did! Let me know what you thought… _


	7. Light Up

_A/N: John tries to remember. Sometimes, he tries to forget. A companion to 'Hope'. _

_Disclaimer: I own nothing but my laptop, a large collection of assorted teas, and an adorable cat who gets away with far too much._

* * *

John tries to remember what real food tastes like; the bread he gets is stale, and the water tastes like iron. He tries to remember the feeling of sunlight on his face, because the light he knows is not bright, it is not refreshing— instead it is cold and grey and it reminds him of where he is, of what he is.

He is a prisoner.

He is shackled and entrapped in a nightmare that is as real as the bars that surround him, caught in a game where the all of the rules are against him.

John sees Anna every week, and sometimes for a moment, he forgets— her smile is so bright that he wonders if she has found some secret way of tucking away the sunlight that he so desperately wishes for— but then his eyes meet hers, and he can see that the light does not reach her eyes.

It is then that he realizes where he is, what he has made her into— the wife of a prisoner, a _convicted_ murderer— and how little he deserves her.

Her punctuality is something he is grateful for— her visits are the only thing that he looks forward to without fail. In the days between his wife's visits, John contents himself with remembering. Anna's laughter, her smile, the feel of her tiny hands in his, the feel of the silver band on the fourth finger of her left hand. All of these memories help him to forget what he is going through.

What _they _are going through.

Most of the time, his own thoughts are like a brisk slap, hot and stinging, as he realizes that he cannot remember the last time he made her laugh, or made her smile. It is during these quiet, sleepless moments that he resolves to do whatever he can to give her some small joy. And so his letters are filled with exaggerated tales of his youth and animated recollections of the animals he had seen in Africa during the war.

When Craig is sleeping, and there is naught but the moonlight to see by, John lies awake, imagining the way Anna's eyes might light up, or the way her throaty chuckle might echo about her room as her eyes glide across his words. He wishes he were there with her instead, her head resting neatly in the crook of his neck, the spot she is particularly fond of, his stories filling the bedroom of their cottage with wild imaginings and vivid scenes.

He imagines the taste of her, her lips warm against his, and he tries to remember the tang of honey on her tongue— because the memories and the dreams of her skin against his, her laughter, her smile, the very _thought_ of her keeps him going— keeps him fighting.

They are— _she is_— his and his alone.

And nothing can take that away, no matter what.

Her next visit is optimistic, her eyes alight and her smile genuine as she tells him of Miss Bartlett's confession.

John thinks maybe he is right about Anna, that she has found a way to bring him the light he so desperately craves, because today he can feel the warmth of the sun for the first time since his sentencing.

* * *

_A/N: Reviews are excellent!_


	8. Risky Behaviors and Romantic Interludes

_A/N: I am positively overwhelmed by the feedback and support that this story has garnered. As a writer, there is nothing more encouraging than to see review alerts in my inbox, as I'm sure most of you know. And to my followers, thank you as well. It means so much to me! So, thank you everyone! For this chapter, we're heading for some full-on fluff coupled with risky behavior from our favorite married couple. What could be better? John and Anna go out for a night on the town. Also, I'd like to point out that this is exponentially longer than I originally intended, but really, who doesn't want more Anna and John fluff?_

_Disclaimer: I own nothing but my laptop, a large collection of assorted teas, and an adorable cat who gets away with far too much._

* * *

John was ecstatic. Tonight would go flawlessly, of that he was sure. The tickets were tucked safely in his breast pocket of his best coat and his bowler hat was sitting atop the secretary desk in the parlor. The cane rested against the outside hall— John rarely used it at home, save for the bad days, when his leg was stiff and the twinge in his knee was severe, but today it had stayed near the door next to the coat rack. John glanced up at the ceiling, listening to the light, rapid footfall above in mild bemusement.

"Anna! Are you nearly ready? We'll be late, love."

Pulling out his watch, he checked the time for what seemed the thousandth time in the last ten minutes, but the minute hand had not yet moved. Anna's voice was muffled, but her footsteps had not stilled. John sat on the couch, his thumb smoothing over the chain of his pocketwatch.

"I'm almost ready! Give me a moment!"

John sighed and sat back, closing his eyes for a moment. Anna had been through so much lately— she was so tired. She denied it vehemently, but he could see it in her eyes; the dark circles beneath her eyes and her constantly tense shoulders told John more than Anna ever could in words. Many nights, John could feel Anna shifting next to him, trying desperately to get what little sleep she could. Part of her sleeplessness was from the nightmares— entire nights were sometimes spent holding his wife as she recounted the very vivid memories of his own self replacing Matthew's body— some was from her sheer exhaustion, and some was from worry for her lady and even more anxiety yet was for the poor babe that spent many a day wanting a mother's love, only to be cradled by Anna.

Lady Mary was wearing his wife thin with her demands, though Anna would never admit it, and a part of John was angry with her for pushing Anna so hard, as if Anna had to perform miracles every day as some sort of odd penance to her deceased husband, as if it was Anna who was at fault for Matthew's tragic death, and not the truck driver who had not seen him in time. Dealing with Anna's own grief had been hard enough, even with John's support, but to have to witness it in her mistress was not something John felt Anna could bear much more of. And so, when last week's paper had come, John had seen the perfect opportunity to treat his wife.

John and Anna had spent most of their time off together in the last year exploring the vast estate, venturing to hidden groves that they had not yet discovered, or exploring each other in the quiet of their cottage, and as such, it was only last week that John realized Anna and he had never been to a picture show together.

_The Golden Dawn _was playing at the Ripon Theatre House, and John had managed to make his way up while his Lordship dealt with some business in Ripon to buy some tickets and reserve a nice room at the local inn. With his Lordship's guarantee of a full day off for the both of them, John couldn't be more thrilled at the prospect of spending the evening in the company of his wife.

The stairs creaked and John opened his eyes, watching as his wife moved towards him, his thoughts interrupted by the sway of her hips as she leaned down to greet him. Her lips met his briefly— all too briefly for John's liking— and she pulled away, smiling as he groaned in protest. John followed his wife to the hallway, wrapping his arms around her middle. "You are a vision tonight, my love," John placed a kiss at the nape of her neck, letting his tongue flick out to taste her skin. Anna stiffened against him and she turned in his grasp.

"And you say _I'm _going to make us late. If you keep this up, we're definitely going to be late," Anna maneuvered away from John, her cheeks flushing as her eyes met his darkened gaze, "So, are you going to tell me where we're going, husband of mine, or am I made to suffer?" John deftly plucked her coat from its place on the rack and helped his wife, his hands lingering on the buttons a moment too long to be considered simply assisting her.

Swinging his coat on, John grinned, Anna's smile meeting his in answer, and spoke: "It's a surprise, and I wouldn't call it suffering. Am I not allowed to be romantic?"

"Of course you are," Anna smiled, her blue eyes lighting up at the prospect of a surprise for her, "But how will we get there?"

"His Lordship has been gracious enough to lend us the car tonight; Mr. Pratt will be driving us, but we're expected to make our own way back." John opened the door, the bitter autumn wind biting, and he nicked their scarves from the rack as well, wrapping his wife's around her neck.

* * *

The motorcar stopped in front of the theatre and John smiled as Anna's face lit up, clearly thrilled at the prospect of seeing a film. The bright lights of the sign illuminated the interior of the car and John stepped out, his leg steady as he leaned forward, offering his gloved hand to Anna. Lifting herself out the car, Anna shot John a pleased look, clutching the flowers he had presented to her at dinner. The car sputtered away, leaving them alone on the sidewalk, the queue to the ticket booth nearly stretching to meet them. The steady murmur of excited voices buzzed around them, and John grinned. Perfect.

"Oh, John, I've always wanted to see a picture show! They hardly ever have new ones in the village." John couldn't help but laugh as Anna's enthusiasm showed, eagerly pulling John towards the theatre.

"I'm glad you like it."

"Like it? John, you spoil me! First dinner and now this…" Anna's fingers tightened around his own as she stretched to touch her lips to his.

"Well, you are a lady, after all," John watched as Anna scoffed at his remark, "And you deserve it after all you've been doing for Lady Mary."

Anna gave John a weak smile and John lifted her hand to his lips, pressing reassuring kisses along the back of her hand.

"Thank you, John. This means so much to me, really, it does."

"Come on, then, let's go then. The film is about to start."

John led her past the crowd of people, the lobby was cramped and bustling, while the darkness of the theatre was cool and refreshing. Anna tugged him towards the back row of seats, perching eagerly on the edge of her seat; John sat next to her, settling into his seat, leaning his cane on the seat next to him. Her hand found his and his fingers twitched around hers, an automatic response to her grip. Anna settled herself against him, the lights dimming as the theatre filled with the last of the viewers. The light from the screen flickered across his wife's face, illuminating the wonder in her eyes. Her mouth was curled into a smile, anticipation rising as the title credits rolled across the screen and John smiled at her eagerness, his hand still caught in hers as the main characters strode across the screen.

An hour later, John still had no idea what was going on onscreen; instead, he was focused on Anna, who had curled into his side and was now watching the movie from the safe shelter of his arms. A few startling scenes had taken place, and John had nearly laughed aloud when Anna scrambled for the protection of his warmth. Now those scenes were over, yet Anna was holding him closer than ever, as if she was afraid of letting him go.

"It's alright, darling. You're safe with me," reassured John with a whisper as he tucked her in closer, enjoying the feel of her pressed against him. Anna's head rested on his shoulder, and he felt her turn towards him, his eyes meeting hers. Lifting her hand to his cheek, her thumb brushed his clean-shaven jaw and he fought to keep some semblance of thought.

"I know, John, I know," Anna smiled again, her eyes lighting up as she undoubtedly thought of something mischievous. "You know, John, it really is dark in here…"

John's brow lifted, and his voice was low and curious, "And?"

"And I've not been kissed this evening," Anna suggested, voice firm as if that were to explain it all.

"What do you mean I haven't kissed you? Of course I have. Quite a bit, if I recall." John was confused.

"Yes, you have, but not… properly." Even in the semi-darkness of the theatre, John watched as his wife's eyes darkened, a glint of daring sparkling in the pools of oh-so-innocent blue.

John felt his throat constrict and he shifted in his seat, trying desperately to stop the pangs of longing that contributed to the very noticeable flush on his cheeks. Anna's hand stole beneath his jacket, and her fingers explored his chest unabashedly, only a thin layer of fabric separating her touches from bare skin.

Shifting once more, John moved forward, his voice even quieter than before, so that only Anna could hear, and even she had to lean in to hear him.

"Now? Anna, this is ridiculous! If we were to get caught," John gestured to the man stalking the aisles, "we'd be flung out!"

"John, please?" Resuming her work beneath his jacket, she held his gaze, her eyes glittering in the dark, and John felt a twinge low in his stomach as her tongue darted out to moisten her bottom lip in anticipation. Before he could even think, John had crushed his lips to hers in a frantic kiss, swallowing her cry of surprise. Letting one hand cup her face, the other teased the curls at the base of her neck, wishing he could feel it loose and free beneath his fingers, needing to feel it in his hands. Anna's surprise was gone, replaced by an eager passion, her hands scrabbling for his neck, then his back, then the front of his chest, as if they did not know quite where to go. Anna's lips were moist on his and he felt himself press urgently to her, the arms of the chair setting them apart uncomfortably. His lips parted then, out of habit, and his wife passed her tongue over his lip, as if to ease a malady of sorts, before daring to move forward.

John pulled away then, his head swimming with unbidden images of his wife, his desire mounting.

He knew then that if the cat really had caught the canary, Anna was the cat, and he the canary, her grin wild and her eyes telling all.

With a breathy sigh, John asked, his voice shaky, "How much of this movie did you want to see?"

Thoughtfully, Anna remarked, "I'd rather see more of you."

Instantly, John's mouth went dry, his head spinning at her daring. As surprised as he was, he was more than thrilled with her reply, his desire now horribly uncomfortable to say the least.

Anna grabbed her handbag as she stood, and with a laugh, drew her husband to the exit, through the lobby, and again moved through the crowds, some of whom stared at the couple's appearance. Anna's hair was disheveled and her coat was hanging awkwardly on her, her haste proving to be her downfall. John figured that he must not have been in much better shape, his tie feeling odd and much too loose, while one hand was gloved and the other remained free, gripping his stick as he made haste, pulling his wife along, towards the inn he had been to not more than a week ago.

* * *

Morning came, and with it, the sun rose, lighting the darkened room. A groan from his wife signaled her awakening, and John found his fingers reaching for his wife's hair, her curls slipping through his digits. A smile erupted on Anna's face, her azure gaze meeting his.

"I'd say that was money well spent, wouldn't you?" Anna's voice was low with sleep.

John laughed and his lips claimed hers, glad to know his plan had been a success. From now on, he thought, there would be no more tears cried, no more sleepless nights, no more nightmares.

Pulling away, he smoothed her hair back, watching as her hand met his cheek, her palm cool against his warm skin.

"Thank you, John. You always know what to do, and here I am, sobbing night after night about silly nightmares that don't mean a thing."

"The fears you have are very real, considering what happened with Mister Matthew, but trust me when I say they are unfounded. I'm not going anywhere Anna," John spoke, pressing his lips to hers once more, "I love you too much to go anywhere, to be anywhere but by your side for the rest of our lives, and that is that."

John felt his wife cuddle closer, her warm body pressing tightly against his own skin.

"I know. And thank you for saying so."

With a last smile, Anna rested her head on John's shoulder, his rhythmic breathing lulling her to sleep again.

* * *

_A/N: Because for some reason, half of these involve a bed at some point without my planning for it, which may or may not be a bad thing depending on who you ask. Let me know what you think! _


	9. Stay

_A/N: The residents of Downton grieve a sudden loss, and Anna and John find solace in each other. I definitely was going somewhere else with this, but my post-Christmas Special angsty feelings kicked in and this came out. Thank you all for your support and all of your feedback!_

_Disclaimer: I own nothing but my laptop, a large collection of assorted teas, and an adorable cat who gets away with far too much._

* * *

John winced, his knee protesting with a sharp ache as he made his way up the servant's stairwell, his pace quickening. He had to find her. To be sure she was alright. The grief was thick in the air and his lungs were heavy, as if one more breath might collapse them— Matthew was _gone._

He readjusted his grip on his cane and hissed as his knee throbbed in pain. Finally, after a few more moments of excruciating discomfort, John reached the doorway, but before he could manage to grasp the handle, it wrenched open, a sudden breeze ruffling his hair. A small body hurtled towards him, nearly bowling him over. Anna stood in front of him, rocking on her heels, blonde hair loose from its bun, eyes red, and her face blotchy.

Startled, John let his cane clatter to the ground, his fingers pressing into her forearms, in silent askance. Her lips trembled and she pressed her face into the breast of his uniform, her tiny hands clutching the lapels of his jacket, crumpling them with her strength as sobs wracked her body. John couldn't bring himself to care about the possibility of anyone seeing them. All John could do in this moment was hold Anna, wrapping his arms around her middle, gathering her as close as he could, circumstance and propriety be damned. The rest of the house was silent, but a sudden wail of grief from the far end of the house broke the heavy quiet.

_Cora. _

Anna's weight rested solidly on his chest, and her shoulders shook with sobs. John knew the story; everyone did. He watched as Robert had come downstairs, tired, his shoulders sagging, as if the weight of the world had settled upon him, speaking impossible, nightmarish words, each syllable prickling John's skin— he had been forced to watch as Mrs. Hughes sank to her chair, as Daisy shrank back, stepping away from the crowd, as if that might ease the sudden shock of the loss. John heart had wrenched violently, his stomach churning as if he might be sick— Anna was nowhere to be found. She could not bear this alone. And so he had made his way up the stairs.

Now, he held her close, his hands rubbing her back, smoothing away the barbs of grief that had overcome her. Sniffling, Anna lifted her head, bringing her fingers up as if to trace his face, thought better of it, let them drop helplessly to his shoulder. Cupping her face tenderly, John swiped her tears away with the pad of his thumb. Anna's throat worked uselessly, her voice catching even as she finally spoke.

"I— John, I can't…" Her resolve faltered and she did not bother to try again. John shushed her gently, his lips caressing the crown of her hair, her forehead, the heat of her cheeks. Slumping against him once more, Anna tried again— this time her voice was measured, balanced as if it settled on the edge of a knife.

"Matthew—Mister Matthew… he's dead," John closed his eyes, his heart aching as he heard the pain in her voice, but she continued, "Lady Mary didn't know. I had to tell her— John, the baby. That little boy…" She stopped there, lifting her face to meet his steady gaze. Her legs wobbled beneath her, and John steadied her again.

John moved them, guiding Anna to sit on the steps, settling her against him. Her hands knotted in her lap, her thin digits fidgeting with the band of silver that rested there, her eyes pinned to the floor, not daring to meet her husband's watchful gaze. A shaky breath rattled from her, and she clasped John's proffered hands in her own, squeezing, clinging to them as if they were the one thing that might save her from this tempest.

"I had to— I was the one to tell Lady Mary. She was so happy, so serene. She had been thinking of names for the baby, thinking of ones that Matthew might like— you should have seen her, John. I ruined her happiness… I told her, and I've only ever seen that look once in my life, when you were sentenced—"

Anna took a breath, swallowing her grief, "I prayed to God the first time I'd never see it again. The baby started crying— she didn't want anything to do with him. I had to take him— he wouldn't stop crying, John. I didn't know what to do…"

John's eyes stung, tears threatening to fall at the idea that Anna had told Lady Mary of Matthew's demise, that it had been Anna who was forced to give her the worst possible news on what should have been the happiest day of her life. Lifting his hands, John traced the line of Anna's quivering jaw, tilting her chin so that his eyes were level with hers.

"What— what can I do, Anna? Anything, just tell me." John heard his voice. It sounded so foreign, so brittle.

Anna edged closer to him, slipping her hands beneath his waistcoat. Wrapping his arms tighter around her, John felt her breath on his neck as she breathed in his scent.

"Just be here with me— _stay_." The words were broken, quiet, as if she were afraid of the answer.

She clung to him, as if he might slip away, as if he were a phantom in a dream. John knew what she was asking, knew that she needed him here, now. Knew that she was terrified of losing him to a cruel twist of fate that might wrench him away from this wonderful life they had built. Eyes sliding shut, John tried to stop the stab of pain at her insecurity.

He understood.

"I will." This time his voice was proud, firm, strong— holding an unspoken promise.

A promise he would keep.

* * *

_A/N: Feel free to leave a review!_


	10. Starlight

_A/N: John spends his first night of freedom beneath the stars. This chapter is dedicated to _floridaredsnapper_ on tumblr, a lovely person who happens to be gracious enough to share her love of all things Brendan with us every day. Thank you for everything, FRS!_

_Disclaimer: I own nothing but my laptop, a large collection of assorted teas, and an adorable cat who gets away with far too much._

* * *

John found himself discontented as he unpacked his few things that Anna had put away for the time being, hanging them in his old wardrobe. His nightgown was decidedly wrinkled and he tried to smooth some of them out, but he didn't particularly mind— John smiled forlornly as he recalled why it was in such a state. Anna admitted long ago to taking it to bed with her on the lonelier nights, when the house was particularly chilly and quiet, as if the gown's warmth and presence might ward away the shadows of her thoughts— as if it might muffle the sobs that came in the dark night, when nothing seemed to stop the blackest of nightmares from entrenching themselves in the corners of her mind.

He knew that the months of separation had not been easy for her; he saw it in her pale face, in her tightly posed smiles during her visits. He shuddered at the thought, and the cotton of the gown slipped through his fingers, drawing him from his thoughts. A soft knock broke the silence and John shuffled over to the door, opening it gently. There Anna stood— on her face was a smile that rivaled even the sight of the sun streaming in the window behind him.

"Anna…" He breathed, "What are you doing here? If Mrs. Hughes…" John was startled by her forefinger against his lips. Anna slipped into his room, shutting the door behind her with a thump, a small parcel clutched to her bosom. John stepped away from her, allowing her the span of the room. Wandering over to his bed, Anna set the package on his beside table and picked up his gown from the bed and sifted it through her fingers for a moment, lost in her thoughts, before folding it deftly in a matter of seconds. Turning back to her husband, Anna regarded his taut stance with a smile. His cane was laid out on the bed and his left leg supported his weight.

"Hush, I've taken care of it. Mrs. Hughes knows I'm here— I won't stay long enough for anyone to suspect my intentions," Anna smirked at that and John exhaled nervously, his eyes searching the room frantically as if to fixate on something, anything but her heated gaze. Daringly, John finally eyed Anna, who was now staring at him with teary eyes. Immediately abandoning all thoughts of propriety, John crossed the small distance between them and swept her into his arms, holding her as close as he could. A hushed declaration of love passed between them, and John felt Anna's heartbeat quicken, hammering against her ribcage. Pulling away, his wife rested her hand on his cheek, looking him squarely in the eye, all trace of sadness banished from her countenance.

John couldn't help but grin at her resolve.

"So, Mr. Bates, I have a surprise planned for you later tonight, and I wanted to tell you about it in private."

"Would it happen to be something along the lines of a fully furnished cottage complete with a large bed?" John asked hopefully, his steadfast gaze holding hers even as her cheeks flushed.

"No, but…"

Leaning in close, Anna took care to let her hands tease the hairs on the back of John's neck, her breath ghosting across his cheek as she whispered her instructions in his ear. Her fingers buried themselves in his hair, toying with the longer strands, and he was naught but a slave to her will. It took a great deal of concentration on John's part to truly listen to Anna's directions and an even greater deal of willpower not to silence her with a kiss, but almost as suddenly as his dearest wife had appeared in his room, she was gone before he could question her, leaving a wrapped package and a very curious John in her wake.

* * *

John found her in the courtyard that evening, after nearly everyone had retired for the night, waiting for him. The click of his cane alerted her, stealing his chance to admire her beneath the starlight. A few strands of her hair had slipped from her tight bun, framing her face in such a way that made his fingers itch with the need to touch it, to feel her hair threading through his fingers. The moonlight of the spring night illuminated her face, casting a glow about her, her blue eyes almost silver in the night, flashing brightly as her eyes met his. Their earlier walk had put some color back into her cheeks, and for that John was glad— her cheeks were pink as she smiled at him. He had seen that smile only a few times before, and he hadn't seen it enough during the year and a half had spent away from her.

John's restraint nearly faltered again as she neared him, her hands inching beneath his jacket, her fingers tracing the buttons of his waistcoat, his hands finding their natural resting place at the small of her back. Her head rested on his shoulder for a moment before John's hushed voice broached the comfortable silence between them.

"Emily Dickinson?"

"Mmm— yes. I've marked a particular page for your leisure. The volume was my mother's— Dickinson was a favorite of hers, and I found myself comforted by it."

"I've not been able to read it. I've been unpacking my things all day. To think I'll just have to pack it all up again in a few weeks time…" John mused.

Turning from her husband's hold, Anna gathered up the few things she had brought out with her. John had not taken notice of the items before, but now he saw them clearly.

A blanket had been set out on the cobbled ground, a few books lay to the side, and a lantern sat perched, yet to be lit, atop the books.

"Anna?" John was curious now, bewildered even. Finishing the arrangement off with a final flourish, Anna turned back to him, placing her hands on her hips, her tiny stature determined.

"We don't have a home yet, but that is no excuse to not spend our time together, as husband and wife are allowed." Anna stated simply, and John narrowed his eyes at her, struggling to discern her meaning. Anna sat on the blanket, drawing her shawl tighter around her.

"Sit," Anna grasped his wrist, pulling him down to stretch out beside her, and she leaned into him, drawing comfort from his warmth against her. "You wrote once that you missed the stars terribly, that the smog of the city rose high in the sky, so as to blot out the starlight..."

"I remember that letter…" he murmured thoughtfully.

John finally realized the meaning of her plans and he glanced up to the stars, watching as they twinkled against the inky black sky. Drawing his wife close, he placed a kiss on the crown of her golden hair. Tears pricked at his eyes and John felt his heart wrench at the sheer notion that she had done this for him.

"I missed _you._ If I should live in constant darkness with no sight of the stars for the rest of my life, I would be content to spend that life with you. Because I love you, Anna," John murmured against her hair and he felt her shift in his arms, her smile glowing in the night. His knuckles brushed away a stray tear that marred her delicate features, before his fingers curled around her hips.

"No tears, my love. From now on, there are only new memories to be made," His voice lowered with the last syllables, his face nearing hers ever so slightly.

His lips brushed hers hesitantly and she closed the distance, pressing her soft lips to his with a boldness that only urged him on. His hands left the safety of her waist to meet her cheeks, tenderly cupping her small face, his thumbs painting patterns on her temples, his fingers inching through her hair. His fingertips met the pins in her hair, removing them with a practiced ease, though they had done so only once before. Moaning in relief, his drew his digits through her locks, Anna humming against his mouth at the tender motion.

How he had longed for this moment!

Many times he had dreamed of this, of her lips soft on his, of her hands bracing themselves against his chest, of her hair falling about her face as he worked the pins loose. Her lips were still on his as her hands met his jaw, her fingernails scraping at the stubble there, trembling, as if she were afraid to touch him, as if afraid she might wake in the next moment, as if it were a dream. Instead, his hands left her hair, clutching her small fingers in his grasp, bringing them to rest against his chest, where his heart thundered wildly beneath the lapels of his jacket. Seemingly spurred on by this silent reassurance, Anna moved, boldly pressing her body against his, her hand still beneath his, the heat of her body against his a delicous torture. Though there were layers and layers of cloth separating them— it was as if her skin was on fire and he was burning with a fever that could not be quenched. And what a glorious burn it was.

John's heart would surely burst with happiness at this very moment, because nothing, nothing could be quite so perfect as this. Never in million years would he have thought that he could hold his wife again, that he could kiss her, that he would be so lucky as to feel her—

It was nearly too much to bear, imagining her, naked in his arms, crying out as he pleased her, his own gasps filling the bedroom in their cottage as she loved him just s_o—_ No, he must stop this quickly, lest he lose the last of his control.

With a reluctant sigh, John pulled his lips away, missing the contact immediately. Instead he drew Anna closer, pulling her into his lap, not caring that she could most probably feel his desire, certain that her own desire was just as prevalent. Her eyes, blazing with heat and passion told him as much. Such embarrassments could not be helped— John had been without her for so long, with nothing but memories, surely she would not forsake him for desiring—for wanting her so very much. He was not disappointed, smiling as she pressed her forehead to his, her eyes still alight with the energy of their kiss.

"That was a very nice first memory," she laughed, pulling him close once more.

He laughed with her then, laying back on the blanket, her head pillowed against his chest as they watched the stars shine above.

* * *

_A/N: I wish these two would quit taking my ideas in different directions. This was supposed to be about stargazing, with a peck or two— Oh, well, I'm sure none of you are complaining. Or are you? Leave me a review and let me know._


	11. Greatness

_A/N: A companion to 'Perfection'. _**M _rated for suggestive content, but it's a precaution more than anything. _**Dedicated_ to all of my reviewers for loving these snapshots enough to leave a total of fifty-six reviews. I love you all! Here, have some cookies. _

_Disclaimer: I own nothing but my laptop, a large collection of assorted teas, and an adorable cat who gets away with far too much._

* * *

John Bates is a great man, and Anna will love him until the day she dies, of that she is sure. If she had ever known one thing to be absolutely, unequivocally certain, it is that.

She can't exactly pinpoint the day she fell in love with him, but she knows that it was in some small moment, some word he said, a slide of his fingers against the page of a book, a little look cast her way.

She loves John. As he greets her at the door of their home, she knows that what they have, what they hold in their hearts is so very rare.

Sometimes she is sure it is all a dream.

There are little things she loves about him; the sparkle in his eyes as he entertains her with tales of his youth, the way his hands are in constant movement as he tells her of his latest London trip.

Anna loves the way his lips pull into a teasing smirk in the heat of the summer nights in their bedroom, suggesting they _cool down— _the way his hands and lips scorch her with a burning fever, one that she never wants to end. She loves the way he whispers words of beauty, of love, as she twists beneath him, the ecstasy of his tender love driving her to the very precipice of control, her head buzzing so that it becomes nearly impossible to discern his words from one another.

Memories of John's stubble grazing her throat as his lips work mercilessly at the hollow of her neck torture her most days, and they strike with renewed fervor as she passes him in the cramped halls at Downton, and he brushes closer to her than needed, letting his hand linger on hers a millisecond too long than necessary, just long enough to hear her breath hitch in her throat.

John's hands, so agitated and restless, how very exact they can be when they are alone— his hands are beautiful, wonderful, and Anna will always remember that first night, how gentle he was— he still is so very precise, so very careful with her, and she loves him for it. His hands worship her in ways that she cannot begin to describe; they set her body on fire, her eyes slamming shut against the heat they create. She can look at him once, in the middle of the day, and she instantly remembers the way he looks— so vulnerable, so _beautiful_, as he loves her, as he cries her name, his voice strained and breathless— and she flushes, watching him as he grins, knowing that she is thinking of him.

She loves the way his hands clasp hers, her digits engulfed so easily by the warmth of his palms. Anna relishes the way his arms hold her so close, the thunderous beat of his heart thrumming beneath her ear as the security of her husband's embrace envelopes in some stolen moment. John's chest is the perfect pillow, whether she is in the shelter of his arms in the scarce privacy that the courtyard offers, or lying in their bed at night, wanting for nothing, the hazy aftermath of their exertions settling thick in the night air.

John Bates is a good man to many— to her, he is great. She tells him this, and he replies that it is her that makes him so.

She smiles and laughs, and he kisses her laughter away.

* * *

_A/N: Well, what did you think? Let me know! _


	12. Free

_A/N: For Kellybccgtsfan. Thank her for this one. _

_Disclaimer: I own nothing but my laptop, a large collection of assorted teas, and an adorable cat who gets away with far too much._

* * *

Anna's hands tremble, the words wavering, her eyes burning with tears.

Her vision is blurred and she slams her eyes shut against the onslaught of emotion. She feels as though she might fall— her knees are weak, and it is as if she has forgotten how to breathe. The letter nearly slips through her fingers, but she tightens her grip, clinging to it as if it were the only thing that mattered. The library in which she stands, with all of its finery and golden moldings, with all of its books and trinkets— this entire house, she could own all of it— and never be as happy as she is in this singular moment. Anna's heart pounds in her chest, so loud and hard she fears her ribs might crack with the pressure.

This changes everything.

Reading it once more, Anna's gaze snaps up to meet the watchful grey eyes of Mr. Murray.

"Under normal circumstances, I would go directly to my client, but I believe you should be the one to inform your husband."

Anna nods dumbly, pressing the back of her hand to her mouth in an effort to smother the sobs that threaten to break the silence. Stumbling backwards, Anna tries to catch herself on the edge of the sofa, and Mr. Murray moves forward quickly, as if to assist her, but kneels down to Anna's level. Sinking down to the cushion, Anna stares at the older man, waiting for him to speak.

"Those are the official papers. Understand that it will take a few weeks for things to settle, but your husband is a free man, Mrs. Bates. The both of you have been through too much in this past year and a half," he smiles lightly, "You deserve this."

Anna smiles weakly, not entirely believing the circumstances yet, her blue eyes widening as the reality of the situation set in. She feels her bottom lip tremble, and she tenses her shoulders, resolving not to break her carefully constructed composure.

Not yet.

With a final nod, Mr. Murray stands, his knees cracking audibly in the silence.

Footsteps echo as the lawyer shuffles to the doorway. Standing sharply, Anna whirls around to face the kind man. For the first time since he had given her the news that her efforts had paid off, that her husband was to be free, she speaks.

"Mr. Murray, before you go…" Anna walks to stand near him. "Thank you. For everything."

"You're welcome, Mrs. Bates. You must forgive for saying so, but I do hope we never meet again under similar circumstances."

Anna's lips quirk up into a smile, and she laughs, true and clear, for the first time for a very long time.

"You're forgiven." Anna grins.

"I'm sure Mr. Bates would agree with me when I say that you're to be the first guest we have over for supper when all of this is over."

Mr. Murray's laughter echoes into the hall as he makes his way to the front door, leaving Anna to revel in the joy of her husband's imminent release. Moving to one of the windows, Anna watches as birds flit about here and there, their chirps echoing in the open air.

_John is finally free. _Anna laughs abruptly, the absurdity of their ordeal seeming like a joke now, a cruel trick. It was over. Done.

She feels free herself, as if a great weight had been lifted, as if all of her worries had gone away, blowing away in the light breeze that blew through the open window. She is free; free from the nightmares, the worries, the ache of sleeping alone, in a cold, hard bed, with naught but her dreams to comfort her— and even those had been rare. A thought strikes her, and she realizes that the birds have been there all along, that the roses bloomed a month ago, and that she had not seen it, had not bothered to notice.

But no, she will not dwell on that; that was done now. A few more weeks, and John would be by her side, where he was always meant to be. It is all she can do not to imagine his face in her mind's eye, laughing and smiling, close to hers, so close that he might kiss her… a bird chirps and her imaginings are interrupted as she focuses on the scene before her.

Today is beautiful.

Two tiny pinpricks appear just over the horizon, near the forestry and Anna catches the sight of Lady Mary's brown hair. Decision made, Anna makes her way across the field, her feet moving as fast as they can in the confines of her uniform.

The sun is shining bright, almost blinding her, but she cannot bring herself to care.

For the first time, Anna feels so very _alive._

* * *

John can't help but notice that Anna's visit today is different than all of the others. Her eyes are restless, shifting to and fro, and her shoes tap on the stone below the table that separates them. It takes all of John's resolve not to reach out and stop her hands from twisting about atop the thick wood of the desk.

Instead, he takes the chance to admire her. There is a brightness in her cobalt eyes that he had not seen since those three short days so very long ago, that Saturday morning after they made love for the first time the night before, and John is hard-pressed to stop the infectious smile that spreads across his lips to match hers. Curiosity overtakes him, and he speaks, his voice booming in the comfortable silence that has settled between them.

"What is it, my love?"

Anna splays her palms flat on the table, and the gold band that settles on her fourth finger glitters in the sunlight that is suddenly so very bright. She stills and her eyes finally settle, meeting his gaze, her lips curling into the widest, _truest _smile he has seen from her yet during his time here.

Her excitement is barely contained, palpable, as if she is bursting with the secret; she fidgets and shifts. Finally, she reaches into her little handbag and pulls out an envelope. The thick, creamy paper is like sandpaper, grating as it slides across the unfinished surface, and John reaches out, taking the parchment beneath his fingertips, his rough knuckles barely grazing hers. With trepidation, John lifts the envelope from the table, slipping the small paper out of its packet.

When John finishes reading, he cannot believe the words that are scrawled neatly across the page. His dark eyes meet Anna's face, and he realizes that perhaps she is an angel, the sunlight falling just so across her face, her blue eyes glittering with tears, her lips trembling in a wobbly smile.

It takes him a moment to speak, takes him a moment to believe.

When he does, his voice is strong, confident, as if the very thought of freedom strengthens him from within. But he knows that he doesn't get his strength from that.

He is strong because of her. He is _free _because of her.

"Anna… We're free…" His throat is tight and he cannot speak anymore, cannot say the words he wishes he could for fear that he might break. _I love you._

She slides her hand forward, under the pretense of grasping the envelope, and his knuckles meet hers. For a moment, they do not move, instead they stay this way. He watches her, watches as tears slip down her cheeks, as she smiles at him once more.

"I know, John." _I love you, too._

* * *

_A/N: Let me know what you think!_


	13. Fair is Fair

_A/N: In which Anna hides something of John's— and later discovers that two can play at that game. I did plan to have this up last night, but it got much longer than I anticipated because Anna and John got a little flirty and wouldn't stop, and I wanted to edit it properly (trust me, editing at midnight is not very productive). _

_Disclaimer: I own nothing but my laptop, a large collection of assorted teas, and an adorable cat who gets away with far too much._

* * *

Anna smirked. There were so many places around the cottage to hide things that they had discovered in the few months they had shared the house, she was sure it would take him a week to find it— the place was small, but the many nooks and crannies lent themselves well to tucking away the little things— especially this. The morning sun was just beginning to drift in, and tea was laid out already. John would be going to London this afternoon to stay overnight with his Lordship, so his suitcases sat neatly by the door, ready to go. Anna had just pinned up her hair when she thought of it, so she immediately abandoned her task of getting ready and rushed downstairs, intent upon tricking her husband.

The little tin was nestled neatly behind the jars and bottles of spices in the highest cabinet just above the sink. He was up and about; she could hear him shuffling around upstairs. With a grin, Anna tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear from where it had slipped from its pin and strode into the sitting room, her nightgown clinging to her in the light breeze that drifted in through the open window. Settling on the sofa that they had finally replaced, Anna opened the nearest catalogue, and flicked through the pages nonchalantly as John shuffled frantically down the stairs. Looking up, Anna watched from her perch as John appeared in the doorway, wild-eyed and panicked, uniform askew, his hair completely pomade-free, the locks falling on his face, casting shadows over his eyes. The sight of him in such disarray sent a flush of heat spearing through Anna's body and she cleared her throat abruptly.

"Is there a problem, love?" Anna inquired, nearly grinning into the pages of her catalogue.

"Anna, have you seen it?" John asked.

Anna's heart nearly broke for her husband, his pleading eyes almost causing her to give in. Clean-shaven and nearly ready for his Lordship's London trip, John looked dapper as always, but his hair was a mess, sticking up wildly. Shutting the catalogue slowly, Anna held John's gaze as she spoke, trying desperately not to smile. Ignoring his wife, John cast his dark eyes around the room once more, as if he might find whatever it was laying about somewhere.

"Have I seen what, John?"

John expelled an exasperated sigh, running his fingers through his unkempt hair, looking around.

"My pomade. It's gone and I can't find it anywhere. I can't leave without it."

"I don't where you put it," she stated, her eyes roaming the room casually, looking anywhere but him, trying very hard to keep her secret. With a huff, John crossed his arms and stared at Anna, his eyes boring holes through her flimsy disguise. She was never any good at keeping secrets from him.

"I'm sure you don't…" his voice was laden with sarcasm, "But honestly, I can't very well go up to London looking like this."

"Can't you, though?"

Anna's smile widened and John's eyes narrowed.

Striding over to where Anna sat, he eased himself down to sit next to her. Anna turned away, her cheeks heating. She hadn't thought this through very well. How in the world was she supposed to hold her composure when he was this close? The infernal man knew what he was doing. His hand crept up to her shoulder, cupping it from behind, and she could feel his fingers teasing her collarbone, her thin nightgown doing nothing to ease the trail of heat that followed his strokes. Determined to hold her own, Anna clenched her jaw, stifling the urge to give in.

"You know where it is, Anna. I know you do," John leaned in, his breath hot on the back of her neck. Anna felt the cool pressure of his lips on the back of her neck and she shivered. She shifted, her cheeks enflamed, and she made to shrug his hand away and stand, but his other arm had managed to sneak around her waist, keeping her locked in his tender grasp.

"I— I don't know what you mean," Anna said slowly, ignoring the feel of her husband's broad chest pressing against her back.

"Oh, I think you do, and I know just how to make you talk…" John's voice was low, the hum of his throat audible in the near silence that filled the thick air around them. His hand deftly slipped the cotton of her gown down to expose her shoulder, his lips dropping to the curve of her neck. Anna's head rolled back in brief surrender, resting on John's shoulder, her eyes sliding shut for a few blissful moments, before she sprung up suddenly, lurching away from the tantalizing ministrations of her husband.

"I will not give in, Mr. Bates!" Anna crossed her arms, hoping she looked intimidating enough despite her mussed hair and askew nightgown to ward off her husband's questions. No such luck. Anna watched as John's eyes darkened, and before she could even think of something to say, he stood too, his frame towering over her, his expression teasing and a smirk curling his lips.

"Out with it, then, Mrs. Bates. Where is it?" John stepped forward. He was so close to her now that she swore she could hear his heartbeat. There he stood, above her, tall, proud, his hair loose and wild, and it was all Anna could do to resist giving in right then and kissing him good and proper. But one thing was certain— if John Bates was stubborn, the same could be said for his wife.

Shaking her head, Anna clamped her lips tight, that errant lock of hair flying out from behind her ear and resting on her cheek.

"Alright, then, I'll try this: _why _did you hide it?"

Confident she would have the upper hand in this, Anna advanced forward so that the front of her gown just brushed the buttons of his uniform, and she watched, thrilled as John's eyes glowed, his hazel eyes darkening ever so slightly.

"Because I like your hair like this. It reminds me of when we're alone, of when…"

That was enough.

John closed the distance between them, his hands clutching her waist, and kissed her. Anna responded eagerly, her eager moan urging him on, and the taste of cinnamon invaded her senses all once, the sweetness bursting on her tongue as she tugged him close, his body flush against hers in less than a second. Her hands acted of their own accord, her fingers clutching at his hair, and she was dimly aware of his hands travelling up her back and mirroring her own actions.

Suddenly, John was gone, and Anna whined in frustration, opening her eyes only to glare at her husband.

His lopsided grin spoke volumes. "Now, tell me where it is…"

"John! You horrid, terrible person. You- you can't just…" Anna's protests died weakly as John continued to stare at her with an expression of mock patience, a smile tilting his lips slightly.

Knowing she had lost, Anna sighed, moving past her husband, and into the kitchen. Within a few seconds, she returned, the small tin of pomade nestled safely in her hands. John reached for it, but Anna drew her hand back, not quite done.

"First, you have to pay me." Smiling, Anna laughed as John's brow creased.

"Pay you? What?"

"Fair is fair, Mr. Bates. Finish what you started, and you'll get it back."

John gave no response, instead he pulled Anna close, and soon, the tin dropped to the floor, quite forgotten.

Victory had never tasted so sweet.

* * *

A few hours later, Anna watched comfortably from her seat at the kitchen table as John gathered the last of his things, clutching the tin of pomade protectively in his left hand. Anna giggled at that, amused at the thought of all that had transpired in the hours since the case of the missing pomade. John moved about the kitchen, checking that everything was in order. He stopped, looking at his wife, his hair now neatly combed back, pomade glistening in the sunlight that filled the little room.

"And you're sure you'll be fine, Anna?"

"Yes, I promise I'll be just fine— don't worry so much. You're only going for the night. I'll see you tomorrow. I love you, Mr. Bates."

"I love you, too. Be safe, love."

Anna leaned up and gave him one last kiss goodbye. Moments later, Anna watched as her husband gathered his overnight bag and stepped out into the bright sunlight.

Humming, Anna gathered the dishes from the table and piled them on the counter, flicking her hair away— John had unpinned it with fervor during their heated encounter earlier. Minutes later, she found herself irritated by her hair's inability to do what she wanted it to. Giving up on the dishes, she instead went in search of her hair pins, but couldn't seem to find them. The last time she remembered seeing them, they had been set atop the end table near the armchair in the sitting room.

Nearing the table, a piece of paper caught her eye. In her husband's scrawl were the words, W_hat can I say? Fair is fair. _Her hair pins were nowhere to be found.

Sighing, Anna begun to rummage through every hiding place she could think of before collapsing in the armchair in surrender, rereading John's words.

_Fair is fair._

* * *

_A/N: Well, that was fun to write! Let me know what you think!_


	14. Endings and Beginnings

_A/N: Even the strongest break sometimes. This may be considered AU, but as we know very little of Anna's background, I'm calling it canon for now. _

_Disclaimer: I own nothing but my laptop, a large collection of assorted teas, and an adorable cat who gets away with far too much._

* * *

**March 1915**

John has seen Anna happy, he has seen her laughing, watched her as she holds her own against O'Brien, her jaw set and her eyes steely, but he has only ever seen her cry once before this. His awareness heightens as she crumples the slip of paper in her strong grasp, tears springing to her eyes as the chair clatters behind her, her footsteps pattering lightly as she runs outside. In a second, John is after her, his cane tapping quickly, leaving behind the sudden uproar and questions from everyone, and he is thankful that he cannot hear O'Brien's snide comment— one small blessing at least.

He finds her, unsurprisingly, in the courtyard. The courtyard. This old place, with it's worn down stone and it's cracking foundation, has heard more secrets than John cares to count. It has become _their_ place— a sanctuary of sorts, a place of free reign, where they can sit in peace, communicating more in a simple silence than they ever could in words, where they can gaze at the night sky and watch as the stars pass them by. Or they can speak of their pasts, of their secrets, of their futures— yes, he is sure these old stones are cracking under the weight of the secrets and stories they hold, etched into the marks and fissures that wind throughout the grey brick. She is in the corner, her back to the wall, nearly hidden by the crates and boxes that line the yard.

The tap of is his cane is loud, echoing in the silence, and he is sure Anna can hear him, but he does not speak. He stays back a bit— he cannot bear to see her cry. John can hear her sobs from the other end of the yard. He does not dare move an inch, lest he disturb her. How he wishes he could! John's heart breaks with every sob that cuts through the still night air.

A moment of silence passes and John clears his throat, her sobs dying out, as if she is tired of crying. "Anna?" His voice is so quiet, it's a wonder she can hear him at all.

John is halfway across the courtyard before she manages to come out of her little corner. Her eyes are red and her face is blotchy— John wishes he could hold her now, tell her how beautiful she is, tell her that everything will be alright, but he can't. Instead, he stands there like a fool, a shaft of moonlight illuminating her pain, her careful composure so delicately placed.

They stand there like that for awhile. John isn't sure how long, but he knows that when he steps forward, his knee is aching with the chill that bites through the air. Anna must be even colder, her uniform not made to withstand the bitter March cold— her shoulders shake violently as he pulls her into his embrace. She stills, her hiccups loud as hot tears stain his lapels. Her arms, so small and thin, wrap around him, and they rest automatically at the small of his back, seeking comfort. John holds her, relishing the feel of her against him and it is then that he realizes how very fragile, how breakable she really is.

Pulling away suddenly, Anna backs away from him, her bun slipping in the swift action. Her head down, she brings her arms around her waist, as if to shield herself. Her head drops and she stares at the ground, her breaths shaky and uneven.

"He was only eighteen. He was a farmhand— and they sent him out there to die—" Anna doesn't move, her voice is slow and steady— she shoves the crumpled telegram at him, and he has no choice but to take it. He won't deny that he is curious, so he looks at the front. He spies the War Office seal, and suddenly, he knows. Flipping the paper, he reads, and it confirms his worst suspicions.

'_Dear Ms. Anna May Smith, _

_As the closest living relation of Edward William Smith, we regret to inform you of his death. On the tenth of March…'_

John's stomach knots, and he cannot bear to read any more.

Instead, he closes the distance between he and Anna, and he holds her close, giving her what he can. He wishes then that he could sweep her into his arms and shelter her from this terrible nightmare— this terrible truth. He watches as she crumbles, her body slumping against his, and he knows a simple truth of life, one that he should have realized long ago; _even the strongest break sometimes._

Anna is soft in his arms, trusting— vulnerable. And he loves her for it— for putting her trust in him, for letting him in. A sniffle, and then her voice vibrates against his chest, and he can almost feel her trying so very hard to be unbreakable, to be strong.

"I'm sorry… You must think me very selfish— to be crying over one man, while thousands more are risking their lives—" John pushes her away from his chest and he eyes snap up to meet hers. Her face is pale in the moonlight and he cups her cheek, attempting to assuage the roughness of such a sudden movement. To be so selfless, even in a time such as this, even after all that had occurred this night— ever selfless, ever kind and with a heart of gold, Anna was worried about others.

"Anna— you are so selfless, so pure. It makes the rest of us look like selfish bastards,"

She cracks a smile at that, and John is glad.

"Please, don't. You are the most caring person I've ever come across. If you want to cry, if you want to scream, yell, whatever— do it. But never, _never _be sorry for being in pain. For hurting. You are brave, yes, I'll not deny it, but even you can't take this on alone. I know, I've tried."

A sad smile crosses his lips for a moment, slipping away as he watches her eyes sparkle with tears.

"I won't promise you that everything will be alright— I can't. No one can. But whatever you need— whatever comes, rain, sun, snow, or sleet, I will be here, by your side, just as you have been by mine. Because—" Halting, John takes a deep breath, and Anna meets his gaze equally, not daring to look away. And he says the only thing he could think of in that moment.

"I love you." The words slip out, easily filling the space between them, the truth of his blunt statement warming the very air. Anna stills, her eyes unblinking as she stares up at him. Relieved at the ease of such a confession, John lumbers on.

"I know it might not be the right time, and loving me might cause you more trouble than I'm worth, but I need you to know, Anna. I need you to know that I will be here with you, every step of the way. I need you to know that I love you."

Anna's eyes slide shut, and John catches the lone tear that trails down her cheek, his thumb stilling, his hand still cupping her cheek. She leans up, her face poised, her chin tilted slightly, and he knows what she needs.

He kisses her then, and she tastes like vanilla, honey, and some secret spice that he cannot name— it is not the perfect moment, but it's enough.

He loves her, and she knows now. _That_ is enough.

* * *

_A/N: Well, this came out of nowhere. There will be some more elaboration on their first kiss later on, but we'll leave it here for now. Let me know what you think!_


	15. In Remembrance

_A/N: An introspective look at the 'one last kiss' scene, in which John mourns what should have been. This is canon in my book, so everyone is okay in the end, but for the sake of this chapter, these are John's thoughts during Anna's last visit, so he hasn't be reprieved of his death sentence yet._

_Disclaimer: I own nothing but my laptop, a large collection of assorted teas, and an adorable cat who gets away with far too much._

* * *

John Bates is going to die.

He had come to accept that death was a part of life a long time ago— but he always figured he might go peacefully, naturally, in his sleep, in the arms of the woman he loved. In Anna's arms.

Not like this. Yet here he is— in this cold, dank place, separated from her by a heavy wooden table that had been bolted to the floor and filthy bars that clank periodically, as if to remind him where he is. He sees it in her eyes.

The hurt, the anger, the _pain_.

She isn't angry at him— she doesn't yell or scream or cry. And for once, he wishes she would. Wishes she would do anything- something to make it easier to accept his fate. But she never will— she always does it her way, no one else's. He wishes— maybe he prays?— that she would abandon him, leave him. It would make it so much easier for her to move on if she hated him, if she loathed him for leaving her alone. He knows it would never be that way, not for his Anna. Steadfast and strong, Anna is just as stubborn as he, and she will carry his name with pride until the day she died, old and grey… and _alone._

And it kills him to know that that will be her future.

The widow of a convicted man, Anna Bates will carry a stigma for the rest of her life, and John hates himself for it. John hates Vera for it. Hates Vera for what she has made him into. A hateful man, spiteful enough to wish she were dead— even beyond the grave, she has won. Vera, ever the cunning woman, has won. He had been defeated. _They_ had been defeated.

Together, he and Anna had made their stand, and together, they had fallen so _very, very far_.

There she sits, his Anna, beautiful and proud and strong, her hair knotted back in that severe bun that had taunted him in his dreams for years before— if only he could feel the silky strands of golden hair slip through his fingers once more, if only he could kiss her one last time, then perhaps he could die with the memory of her taste locked in his mind. For a moment he revels in the memory of what it had been like to slip the pins from her hair as they made love for the first time.

Then the reality slips in and he remembers. _For the last time, too. _

John doesn't regret much in his life— if one had asked him years before, he would have said he regretted everything in his life: everything he had done, and equally, everything he hadn't done. He does not regret anything now; fate had led him to his home— to Anna's embrace. The only thing he regrets now is that he will not be waking to her smile in the morning, that he will not be allowed the privilege to watch her, her belly swollen with the life they had created, with that singular glow about her, lighting up at the prospect of bringing up a child with him. He will not watch her grow old; he will not watch her golden hair turn silver with age. John will not be able to watch her bouncing a crying grandchild on her knee, kissing the bruises better, whispering wise words only a grandmother could.

She knows his pain. He can see it reflected in her eyes, the cold chill of loneliness creeping in, the grief settling like a thick fog over her sharp blue irises, as if she too is imagining life without him.

For a moment, he wonders if she regrets loving him, if she regrets knowing him in the way that she had, knowing him in ways only a wife could. He cannot regret loving her, he will not be sorry for that— instead he mourns the life they should have had, the future that should have been theirs. Later in the cold of her room, when all others have gone to bed and Mrs. Hughes has extinguished the last candle, will Anna weep for what was lost?

It makes him angry to think of her pain, of her suffering, but it will not do to be angry— not here, not in these last moments with Anna. Looking across the table at her, John offers a weak smile as she watches him, her eyes locked onto his, as if they are striving to remember every detail of his face.

These last moments are precious, and John Bates decides to make the most of them. And so, for her sake and his, he gives her one last kiss.

To remember him by.

* * *

_A/N: What have I done?! Leave a review!_


	16. A Father's Greatest Wish

_A/N: John and Anna pick out names for the baby, and John falls in love with the idea of having a little girl. I needed some more fluff after those last two angst-filled chapters, so here, have some pregnancy fluff. I just can't picture them not having a girl, even if they do have a boy sometime in the future. Because you know that John would do anything for his baby girl. _

_Disclaimer: I own nothing but my laptop, a large collection of assorted teas, and an adorable cat who gets away with far too much._

* * *

Ten o' clock came early that night, but the man sitting on the bed took no notice. Instead, he hunched forward further, his back supported by pillows as he scribbled hastily on a piece of heavy cream paper. The light of day had long since vanished, but John Bates was not deterred from his task. Determined, he continued about his mysterious task, the pencil lead dulling, reducing John's usually impeccable penmanship to an almost illegible scrawl. The creak of a floorboard alerted him, and his head snapped up to gaze upon the figure of his wife.

Her gown draped over her figure perfectly and her eyes seemed brighter from the relaxing bath. A smile graced his lips and he shifted over, fluffing her pillow as Anna rounded the bed. Her hair was down, the water from her bath moistening her gown, the white cotton moulding to her collarbone seductively, and John averted his eyes— he was not done quite yet, and he couldn't afford to be distracted now, even if the distraction was as pleasant as she. Instead, he turned back to his work, squinting in the low light of the beside lamp.

"Nice bath?" John murmured, not really paying attention to heat of Anna's body pressed to his back as she peeked over his shoulder. Her breath was cool on his neck as she hummed in response. Her swollen belly pressed into his back, and John felt the sting of tears prick at his eyes. After a year of married life, John and Anna had been eager to add to their family, and six months later, their dream had come true. The baby was due in September, and naturally, John had his anxieties, but Anna had been magnificent throughout, as always.

"Mmm, yes. Though I might've enjoyed it more with your company…" Anna purred, and John stiffened, his hand pausing as he felt her body press further to his. John gave up quickly, flinging his pencil across the sheets and conquering Anna's lips with his own. His hands settled on her waist, pulling her as close as he could manage. Anna's hands rested on the solid warmth of his broad, naked chest, and the tips of her fingers curled into the dark hair there and he felt the breath leave his body. John pressed himself closer to her, eager to continue their spontaneous encounter, but he was disappointed when Anna pulled away, the slip of paper he had been hard at work on clutched between her fingers. Dizzy with the power of their kiss, John took a breath, as if that might cool the heat that pooled in his veins. His weak-willed attempts to retrieve the paper from his wife proved useless and she read it, her eyes drifting quickly over the words. Sighing, John clambered beneath the covers, the thin sheets pooling around his waist, and wordlessly, Anna followed suit, her eyes never leaving the paper, reading as if it were the most interesting thing in the world.

"Anna…" John huffed impatiently as she curled into his side, the soft light of the lamp illuminating her smile as she read on. John slumped back, shutting his eyes. He shouldn't have done this in the first place. It was ridiculous, really— it was Anna's child, after all. She had every right to—

"I like this one," Anna's voice snapped him out of his reverie and his eyes followed her index finger to the writing.

"Really? You don't mind that I made a list?"

John winced at how pathetic he sounded, but in truth, he didn't care so long as Anna didn't mind what he'd done. He felt Anna's gaze on him, and he was compelled to meet it with a sideways glance of his own. Her cool palm pressed into his upper arm and he felt braver for it. Head on, hazel eyes met blue and John was surprised to see tears forming in Anna's cerulean irises.

"I think it's terribly sweet. Most husbands wouldn't draw a bath for their wives, much less go to all this trouble to make a list of names. And every one we've discussed… they're all here, John." Anna's voice warbled and she sniffled, pressing her fingers to her lips, her wedding band gleaming in the light.

John couldn't keep the triumphant smile from his face any longer, and he grinned, pressing his lips to her forehead and turning to the parchment.

"So, which one did you like?"

"Well, for a boy, I really do like John William— but then I've always loved it, and no, you don't get to complain. John is a good name for a gentleman… A little boy who is a gentleman, just like you, with your eyes and your smile, of course—"

"Oh, dear. Lord help the poor lad," John groaned teasingly, grinning at the playful swat that Anna aimed his way.

"That's my future son you're talking about, so you'd best stop that now, Mr. Bates, or you'll have naught but the couch for company tonight."

John laughed heartily before he spoke, his voice every bit as serious as he really was, "But what if it's a girl? I was thinking Katherine— after my mother— if that's alright. I know that you probably won't like it and—" John's ramblings were cut off by Anna's kiss. Pulling away, Anna was hard-faced, and John knew it was best not to argue with whatever she was about to say. Her face softened and she smiled, her palm cupping his jaw as her thumb traced the light stubble dotting his chin.

"I love it; I think it's perfect, and I think that there's no greater way to honor your mother's memory, John."

John sighed in relief and he felt the all too familiar gathering of tears. Cursing at his newfound vulnerability, John wiped away the unshed tears and Anna had the decency to pretend she hadn't seen them.

Leaning over, Anna stowed the list on the side table and John immediately missed her warmth. As fast as she had left, John was grateful for her presence, and they burrowed deep under the covers. John put out the light, the darkness enveloping them both as they settled down for the night. Anna placed her head on his chest, and her arm wrapped around his waist, her belly warm against his side. Suddenly tired, John had nearly drifted off to sleep when Anna's voice invaded his deep thoughts.

"What will she look like, John? What will Katherine look like?"

John grinned at her inquiry. Somehow, she always knew what he was thinking before he managed to think about it. Envisioning Katherine was not hard at all, for John had long ago decided that their child would look like Anna, her blonde hair and fair skin gracing their child with a handsome beauty surpassing that of any little girl or boy on Earth.

"Katherine? Well, she'll take after you, of course," John paused and he caught Anna's chuckle before continuing on, "She'll look like you, and there will be a line of suitors down the lane— but being my little girl, she'll have her Pa shoo them all away," John smiled at the thought, "And she'll have the bluest eyes, and golden hair atop her head— her manners will be impeccable, but when you and I are not watching, she'll get into all sorts of trouble. She'll climb trees, she'll get lost in her own imagination, and best of all, she'll be the kindest soul alive. You'll teach her that, you know. She'll bring home a three-legged cat and name it Thomas and she'll beg us to let her keep it. And of course, she'll look like you, so I can't say no. And then, eventually, she'll teach all of these good, wonderful things to her sister and brother. And we'll read her books every night before bed and she'll learn to sew— she'll be so wonderful, so perfect that I'll thank you every night and day for her… I already do." John smiled, and he felt Anna press her lips to his neck.

"A brother and a sister? Already? My goodness, you've been thinking that over."

"And even if there is no brother or sister for her, I'll be perfectly happy, Anna. I don't need anything more than we have now. We have each other, and we have Katherine now."

Anna laughed in the darkness, her question nearly lost in the sea of mirth that erupted from her little form.

"Wh- what if it's a boy?"

"Whatever happens, this baby will be perfect— we love it so much already. Ten little fingers and ten little toes is all I want. Goodnight, love."

"Goodnight, John."

Pressing his palm to Anna's round belly, John whispered, "Goodnight, little baby. Daddy loves you."

He knew that whether it was a Katherine or a John, he would be the proudest father in existence.

Ten little fingers and ten little toes. That was all he wanted.

_Thank God… and you, Anna._

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_A/N: Leave a review with your thoughts! Anonymous reviews are enabled, as always!_


	17. Come What May

_A/N: John thinks about what life with Anna will bring and Anna contemplates her future with John. I was going to post something different today, but I figured this needed to be typed out because it wouldn't leave me alone. _

_Disclaimer: I own nothing but my laptop, a large collection of assorted teas, and an adorable cat who gets away with far too much._

* * *

This is it— the moment everything changes. The moment John has dreamed of for six years. This is the first day of the rest of their lives, come what may. Anna had been right; John couldn't deny her the right to bear his last name— he never could say no.

Not to her.

As he straightens his tie once more (he never could manage to get it just right), John allows himself a moment's pause, dreaming of their future— dreaming of Anna. He imagines how she might look waking beside him, hair tousled after a night of love-making— how she might look with child, the gentle swell of her belly—how she might look holding a baby. The baby would look like her, because heaven help the poor babe if it resembled him remotely. He imagines what it might be like to watch her grow old with him, to watch her with their grandchildren, bouncing them on her knees and regaling tales of a knight and his princess.

He still cannot understand what he has done in his life to deserve her, but he knows better than to tempt fate with useless questions. He has her, and that is what matters— his heart swells with joy at the thought of her, so very strong-willed and determined.

As he dons his bowler, he knows that this is the end of heartbreak— for as long as he has Anna, they can survive anything, weather any storm.

_Because they would do it together._

* * *

Anna wakes early, of her own accord, and Jane is slumbering quietly next to her. The darkness does little to light her way as her feet brush the hard wooden floor. On any other morning, she might have shivered, she might have clambered back into bed, intent upon salvaging what little rest she before the day ahead, but she can't quite manage to silence her restless thoughts. This is no ordinary day. This is the day she leaves Anna Smith, the housemaid, behind and becomes who she needs to be- Anna Bates. And she can think of nothing else.

Even as she slips into the dark hallway and pads across the floor to the washroom, her heart pounds with anticipation. It is much too early for anyone else to be awake, and so she slips out of her nightgown, leaving her cotton gown to pool at her feet as she steps in front of the mirror to scrutinize herself.

Her chest is small, her hips are narrow, and her legs are much too short. She has never minded it before, but now her cheeks flame red with shame and she grabs the gown from the floor, suddenly chilled.

She knows they probably won't have a wedding night, or anything of the sort, but she cannot help the sadness that wells up in her heart at the idea that she is so much less than perfect, so much less than he deserves. Anna's moment of melancholy ceases and she hears a noise out in the hall. Gripping the candle, Anna moves into the hallway, where Daisy has appeared, her hair a mess and her knuckles rubbing at her tired eyes.

"Anna? What're you doin' up? It's not six yet. Just past four-thirty." The young girl moves closer, and Anna catches a glimpse of the kitchen maid's wan complexion in the light of the candle. Anna shifts under Daisy's doe-eyed gaze, and she finds herself moving down the hall, away from her, offering a simple "I couldn't sleep," as an explaination.

Shutting herself in her room, Anna is careful not to disturb Jane as she sits on the bed, the springs creaking horribly in the silence that fills the stagnant air. What will life be like with Mr. Bates as a husband? She cannot imagine him as being any less than what he is now; kind, warm, caring. _Loving._

She closes her eyes and dreams of a cottage, _their_ cottage, nestled near a grove of trees, the estate lawn sprawling to meet their feet at the threshold. She had picked it out long ago, after he had left with Vera. She often took walks around the grounds to ease her troubled thoughts during the war, and in the aftermath of Mr. Bates' return, they both had walked every inch of the property toether, arm in arm.

Anna imagines two little children running about. The boys have their father's eyes, but one has fair hair and the other is graced with a shock of brown hair, properly mussed from his exertions, and Anna can see John, cane swinging in his hand as he comes home, his smile widening as he nears her with every step.

Jane moves in her sleep, the springs squeak awfully, and the vision fades as Anna's eyes pop open.

The cold reality of their situation hits her like a slap in the face and Anna nearly cringes. Vera Bates is dead, and Mr. Bates is under suspision. Their position is precarious, balancing on the edge, and it is all Anna can do to make herself believe that everything will be alright.

Come what may, they will fight side by side, as husband and wife.

_Because she knows what true love is. And there aren't many who can say that._

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_A/N: So, what do you think? Leave a review!_


	18. Heroes

_A/N: Anna and John eagerly await the return of their son from the front. This one was really fun to write, and I loved every second of it! I hope you enjoy it too!_

_Disclaimer: I own nothing but my laptop, a large collection of assorted teas, and an adorable cat who gets away with far too much._

* * *

_October 1945_

Waking to the light of the morning sun, John blinked, blocking out the harsh rays that threatened to blind him. Shifting, his hand met the cool of the pillow next to him and his eyes snapped open. For a moment, his head swam with irrational fear, the remnants of his nightmare sending panic jolting through him as horrifying images flashed in his mind. John stilled then, listening intently, and when he heard the soft humming through the floorboards, it was as if his shoulders had shed the weight of the world.

Dropping his head back onto the pillow, John scrubbed a hand over his face, his stubble grating against his palm as he pushed himself up with a groan. John shivered as his feet met the cool surface of the wooden floor, the breeze from the window shifting the lace curtains slightly. Birds flew about, their chirps audible in the relative silence of the village. Not many people had started their day yet, and with good reason. The bone-chilling nip of autumn still had not hit the sleepy little village quite yet, and for that, John was grateful. His knee always turned worse for wear when the frost stuck and it would be no different this year.

Stretching his leg, John grimaced as he felt the stiffness clench at his joints— he had known that his knee would be worse as he got older. If Anna noticed his pain, she never said a word; instead, every evening she would simply take his leg in hand and knead the pain away. It was funny, really, how they never really needed words. But then, they'd always been good at that, knowing what the other was thinking, being in tune with one another. If anything, their twenty-seven years of marriage and three children had proved that. John smiled, thinking of his luck, and shuffled to the other end of the room, where his robe lay neatly across the back of Anna's vanity chair. Catching his reflection in the mirror, John paused.

Despite all of the hardships he had faced in his life, age had treated him fairly well. A smattering of grey dusted his hair, now silver at the temples, and his face was lined with fine wrinkles, though the deepest of them were laugh lines. He had stayed fairly fit through the years, running the hotel and taking daily walks with Anna. He had required reading glasses since Katherine was born, and to some extent, he hated them, though he wasn't so quick to complain when Anna confessed that found them thrilling. Pulling his robe securely around him, John turned to the door, where his eyes met the fine figure of his wife.

"Getting vain in your old age, I see." With a smirk, Anna pushed off her perch on the doorway and nestled into John's open embrace.

"Hardly. Not unless I have something to worry about." John murmured, pressing a kiss to her hair.

Anna pulled back, gazing up at him, and with a devilish smirk, spoke: "No complaints here."

John sighed in mock irritation, instead pulling her in for a kiss. One might have thought that after nearly three decades of marriage, it would have grown boring, tedious, even. That had hardly been the case. Even with age, Anna's passion for John had not dwindled, and John was convinced without a doubt that he would always want Anna, until the last breath left his body. Anna had grown lovelier with her years, her blue eyes glittering with youth alight, and her hair, but for a few strands of grey that had started with the war, had stayed the same. Fine wrinkles lined her cheeks, but John took no notice. To him, she was as beautiful as the day he had promised her a lifetime of happiness.

"Have you written to Katherine yet, dear? I know she'll want to be here when Robbie gets home." John watched as Anna's eyes brightened at the mention of their eldest child. At eighteen, Robert William Bates had enlisted in the war effort and John had been simultaneously thrilled and terrified. The news brought back anxieties he had not had for some time, memories of his own war mixing with nightmares and possibilities of this new one.

As proud as he was of Robert, it was with a heavy heart that he bade his son farewell, watching with a sickness in his stomach as the train pulled away. They had not seen him since July of last year, and Anna had been fretting with worry as news from the front grew worse and worse. John had to console her many a time, often reassuring her by telling her that he was her son, through and through, and if anything, he was as stubborn as she. John and Anna counted themselves lucky that John Jr. had been too young to fight, only twelve when the boys had been encouraged to go to war for their nation. Now, with the end of the war, both parents were impatient to see Robert.

"I did. Last week. She's set to arrive today at noon. Arthur and the children, too. Is that alright? We have more than enough room. If they can't stay here— I suspect Robbie will be home tomorrow and will want to stay here— they'll put up at the hotel. It's just down the road, and it's not as if we'll be charging them."

"Oh, you're giving them a free room? I'd have thought being family might have earned them a double fee," John grinned, dodging Anna's playful tap, and continuing, "Speaking of family, where's John?" John sank down into the chair, pulling Anna onto his lap.

"Down at the store. He offered to open for Mrs. Marshall, so I suppose we have the place all to ourselves…" Anna's voice lowered with the last syllables even as John leaned in to capture her lips.

Before his lips touched hers, John muttered, "Well, then, we should make the most of it, hmm?"

"Yes, let's." Anna giggled. Her laughter was swallowed by John's kiss and he could feel her smile against his attentions. Sweeping his tongue across her bottom lip, John was pleasantly surprised as Anna shuddered against him.

Anna pressed into him further and John felt her chest crush against his, her hum of appreciation sending pinpricks of pleasure coursing through his veins, pooling like hot lead in the pit of his stomach. His mouth fell open beneath hers of its own accord, and he was helpless to stop her as she tasted him. John clenched the edge of her gown in his strong grip and his other hand met the soft flesh of her calf, drawing patterns on the smooth creamy skin. Anna's own hand lay flat against his chest, and he felt dizzy as she curled her fingers into what little chest hair that was exposed by his nightshirt. Cupping his cheek, Anna pulled away, her glassy eyes triumphant. Before she could say anything, John had her back at his mercy, her throat working soundlessly as he peppered kisses along her jaw, his stubble scratching at the hollow of her neck.

Breaking apart suddenly as a knock echoed through the small home, John watched as Anna flushed as she took in her disheveled state in the mirror. Sighing, she adjusted her gown, lips turning down at the sight of reddened skin on her neck, the creamy expanse irritated by her husband's stubble. John turned in the doorway, offering Anna a promising grin, eyes darkening at the sight of his mark.

Another knock sounded, this time louder, as if the visitor was impatient.

"John Bates, you have to answer it! What if it's important?"

"Who is important enough that they consider it just fine to visit at this hour? Besides, I'd much rather continue our… alone time."

John chuckled as he moved out into the hallway, barely catching a "John!" as he maneuvered down the stairs.

Again, a knock sounded as John came to rest on the landing.

"Alright! It better be important," Walking through the parlor to the front door, John wrenched it open, ready to give whoever it was an earful for intruding this early on in the day. Instead, the protests died on his lips as his eyes fell upon a familiar sight. Six feet tall, his son stood on the threshold, the early morning rays illuminating his broad build and wide smile. Speechless, John simply grinned, pulling his son in for an embrace, tears springing to his eyes.

Quietly, John ushered him in, shutting the door behind him. Removing his cap, Robbie ran his fingers through his sandy blond hair, his blue eyes flickering around, noting the familiarity of the place he called home. Just like his mother in every way.

John grinned at the thought.

"Son, it's so good to see you. You're early." Not waiting for a response, John clapped the young man on the shoulder, watching as his eyes sparkled mischievously.

"It's good to be home! I came on the milk train. Where's mum? And little John?"

John laughed at that. Like father, like son.

"She's upstairs, I'll get her. John should be back soon. He's up at the store."

Robbie was quick behind him as John practically ran towards the stairs.

"Anna! Quickly!" John called, both men laughing at Anna's indignant grumbling.

"John, it had better be important!" Anna's voice neared with her footsteps, her voice catching as she stopped at the top of the stairs, blinking rapidly, as if to dispel a vision.

Still in her gown, with only a shawl covering her shoulders, Anna had tied her hair into a plait, obviously having been in the middle of becoming at least somewhat presentable. In a moment, Anna was thundering down the stairs, moving faster than John might have believed had he not seen her, and she flew into her son's arms.

"Robbie!"

"Mum…" Robert grinned as he fastened his arms around her.

John watched as mother and son rejoiced, his eyes stinging with tears as Anna held her oldest boy close for a moment. Robert closed his eyes, his arms practically swallowing his tiny mother and John felt his heart balloon with joy. Sniffling, Anna pulled back, holding him at arm's length while she surveyed her boy. With a frown, Anna announced that he looked much too peckish and in a second, she had pulled him through to the kitchen, John following closely.

Pausing, John surveyed the scene from the doorway with a grin, watching as Anna bustled around, chattering excitedly as she put the kettle on and reached for the china, dismayed when she couldn't quite reach it. Robbie stood behind her, his height dwarfing her and he retrieved the china with ease, laughing as Anna playfully chided him.

Twenty-seven years of marriage and three children later, John Bates had everything he had ever wanted in the world.

He shuffled into the kitchen, slipping easily in to the conversation as he sat at the table with Anna, gripping her hand reassuringly beneath the table as the three sat, laughter ringing throughout the small home.

* * *

_A/N: There may be another part to this, detailing Katherine and John Jr.'s reunion with their dear brother. Until then, feel free to leave your thoughts and remarks! I hope you enjoyed it!_


	19. A Courtyard Encounter

_A/N: John and Anna steal a racy moment in the courtyard. For luvsdamovies. I hope you like it._

_Disclaimer: I own nothing but my laptop, a large collection of assorted teas, and an adorable cat who gets away with far too much._

* * *

The courtyard was quite tonight, and John was grateful for the silence.

After the noise of London, it was always nice to return home to Downton, have a home-cooked meal, and relish the peace and quiet of his wife's company as she lay next to him in bed. It had been a long day. The train out of London had been delayed, and consequently, John had missed the servant's supper, stepping through the door only to ready his Lordship for bed. He had caught Anna for a split second in the stairway, not enough to say much more than a rushed greeting, but all it took was a mutually understood glance to know that they would meet in the courtyard before she readied Lady Mary for bed. John shifted his knee, his back stiff from leaning against the crates and he heard an audible pop as the joint creaked. A muffled slam alerted John to Anna's presence, and her eyes were quick to seek him out in the muted moonlight. Smiling, almost in relief, she rushed to him, an errant strand of hair falling to the side, and John resisted the urge to tuck it back, to feel it slide through his fingertips.

Barely having enough time to stand up straight, John chuckled as Anna immediately embraced him, pulling him behind the crates that were stacked precariously against the wall. In an instant, Anna's mouth plundered his, her eyes sliding shut, and he sighed as her little fingers pressed into the back of his neck, seeking out the strands of hair at the nape of his neck. A sudden urgency overcame him, and he pulled Anna close, backing into the shadow of the nearest alcove as he sought to show her how much he had missed her in the week he had been away. Eyes sliding shut, John's mouth opened as Anna sought entrance, her tongue darting out to taste him, and he became lost in her.

John's back collided painfully with the brick of the courtyard wall as he pulled Anna flush to him— he could hardly feel the sting through the heady haze of Anna's warmth against his body and the sensation of her lips pressed to his. It was November and the cold had come early, but John doubted that either of them really felt it— heat scorched him from the inside out, and his mind was blank but for thoughts of Anna; the way her natural scent surrounded him, the way she tasted, the mint flavor of her tea settling on his tongue as she kissed him. The heat of her body didn't go unnoticed, and John felt a thrill run through him, to know that she was affected just as much as he. His hands met the small of her back and her felt her hum at the contact.

Moulding against him, Anna clutched the lapels of his jacket, as if she could pull him even closer. The heavy heat settled in around them, the weight of their love pressing in on them, pulling them closer to one another. Dipping his head down further, John broke the kiss, taking hold of her hands instead and kissing Anna's palms reverently. Sharp breaths mingled, coming in harsh bursts, the heat of their frantic encounter having burned the air from their lungs. John looked up at Anna, watching as her eyes glittered in the dark, the oceanic orbs now a dark, stormy blue as she stared at him. A smile tilted her lips upward and she moved close to him again, her cheeks pink in the chill that settled around them. John was painfully aware that only a few layers of clothing separated their bodies, that only a few centimeters of flimsy cloth kept him from the creamy, silken flesh of her naked body.

The images that assaulted him were not unsavory, far from it; flashes of his wife, naked and writhing beneath him rushed to the forefront of his mind, and he could stand it no longer. Capturing her swollen mouth with his once more, John eagerly brought his trembling hands to her face, cupping it tenderly, while their lips worked in tandem, drawing sighs of relief and pleasure from both of them. Anna's hands dipped into his waistcoat, the buttons opening with ease under her practiced digits. John's own fingers curled around the nape of her neck, and Anna's responding shudder sent tremors through him, his need for her pooling like molten lead in his stomach, knotting and twisting deliciously. A sigh erupted from Anna's lips at the sensation of his apparent arousal, and she pressed her hips to his eagerly. With a strangled moan, John pulled away once more, resting his head against the wall as he watched the stars spin above.

His cheeks were hot as he glanced down at Anna, watching as her chest heaved, and he wished he could feel her now, here, naked under the light of the stars—

But, alas the fantasy was broken; Anna cupped his cheek and stroked his scar tenderly.

"I'll be back in half-hour. Meet me here, and we'll walk home together, then…" leaning in close, she whispered, her breath cool on his neck, "I'll welcome you home properly."

John inhaled sharply, the cool air shocking him and he struggled to form a thought. Anna smirked, and turned away, her little shoes clacking against the cobblestone, leaving John in the alcove. Before she was completely out of earshot, he spoke softly, his words heavy with innuendo.

"Naughty girl…"

Anna's laughter echoed long after she had gone inside.

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_A/N: Well… umm, let me know what you think, yeah?_


	20. A Night to Remember

_A/N: You might have noticed the rating change at the top of the page. There's a good reason for that: a wedding night love scene. I honestly cannot tell you why I decided to write this, but it's done, so I'm throwing to the masses. Tear it apart if you wish. First, know that I've never before written any kind of love scene/smut, so I'm more than a little scared about posting this. If you see something that needs to be improved, let me know, and if there's a next time, I'll take that advice into account. I'll just be over there, hiding in my corner…_

_Disclaimer: I own nothing but my laptop, a large collection of assorted teas, and an adorable cat who gets away with far too much._

* * *

They stand across from each other, the heat of the room stifling as neither of them move. The gown slides from her shoulders as her fingers, almost of their own accord, pull at the ties, and she hears a stuttering breath from across the room as the cotton fabric meets the floor.

Anna is terrified; her heart pounds in her chest so loud she thinks that perhaps Mr. Bates— _John, _she reminds herself— can hear it in the thick silence that falls around them. His eyes glide over her figure— she doesn't meet his gaze, instead her cheeks burn as if the flame that crackles in the fireplace has immersed her. What had happened to her bravery, to her forwardness? Her eyes are fixed to the spot on the wall behind him, where a portrait of a woman she does not know hangs, the eyes staring at her accusingly, black as ink— _how dare she, a servant, stand naked in a room meant for far nobler than she? How dare she, imperfect as she is, be so daring as this?—_ and suddenly, she cannot bear it.

She cannot bear not seeing him, not watching him as he looks at her.

Standing naked in front of him, Anna has left nothing to the imagination, and for a moment, she fears that he might think her too forward— but it is done.

She has bared all, from her too-small breasts, to her too-short legs. The only thing she has left in place is her hair, and she is acutely aware of the pins digging into her scalp. Bracing herself for a look of disgust, she regards him, meeting his stare, and she feels the breath leave her body, as if she has been submerged suddenly, and her eyes sting with tears, unblinking. His eyes are filled with a tenderness Anna has never seen to such a degree, and she nearly crumples beneath its weight. A sigh escapes him, and Anna feels her stomach flutter, watching as his fingers twitch at his side— how desperately she wants to feel his touch then!

He leans heavily on his cane and he stares at her for what seems like an eternity, and the silence is almost maddening. His forearms are exposed thrillingly by the nightshirt he wears, dark hair covering the muscles that flex slightly while he stands as if frozen, watching her. With a flush of sudden embarrassment, Anna turns to fetch her gown from where it lay, crumpled carelessly on the floor, but as she turns, John's voice fills the room.

"Leave it," His voice is soft and lilting, but the command is enough to make her stop in her tracks. "Don't, please."

It almost sounds as if he is pleading, as if he is begging and Anna ceases, instead turning to look at him once more, her throat suddenly dry.

John moves then, the floorboards creaking underneath his footfalls as he nears her. He is close now, so close. She can see the sheen of sweat on his forehead, can see the faint outline of the scar Vera had left, but her eyes find his quickly, and she feels his breath ghost across her cheek as he leans in closer. She can feel the heat of his body, and his lips, softer than she'd imagined, brush her ear as he speaks, his chest rumbling and his words vibrating in the very air, her body flushing from the feel of him, so close. His body is poised carefully away from hers, almost purposefully. She stares at his neck, captivated by the open buttons of his top, and his words are almost lost to her as she contemplates the thatch of thick hair that curls at the neck of the undershirt he wears, but she hears them nonetheless.

"You're perfect, Anna," John whispers, and his free hand, trembling, cups her chin, tilting her head up, forcing her to see him, to truly hear him, to _look_ at him.

His eyes are pools of green and gold and brown and blue, and they are sincere as ever. Anna shudders, blinking back the tears that threaten to escape, and she kisses him suddenly. In a moment, he is pressed against her, his body flush against hers, and she can feel his desire pressing into her, and she is thrilled by the contact, eager to feel more, and somewhere in the back of her mind, she reminds herself that they are married now, that the gold band on her finger is so much more than a trinket— it is a promise. Her hands inch through his hair, her fingers threading themselves through the thick locks, and she presses herself flush against him, making her intentions clear. His mouth is addicting, and his lips are aflame, scorching her beautifully, and Anna _needs_ him like she never has before.

Her heart leaps in her chest, and she is very nearly afraid of this new desire to have him completely, to be his in every way imaginable. She opens her mouth beneath his and she can taste the bitter tea of their evening ritual, the one with the stolen glances, the hidden smiles, the happiness they dare not share with the others— not yet. And this is theirs too, their very own secret paradise.

With a sharp gasp, John pulls away from her, and Anna watches as his eyes glitter in the dim light of the fire. His hand is warm as he takes her palm, lifting it to his lips. Pressing a small kiss to the center of her outstretched palm, John lifts his dark eyes to her stormy irises, a question prompted in them. Desire twinges in her belly, and she swallows, her mouth dry as sand. The need to have him is like never before; tension coils like a thousand springs in her body, and she feels as though she is waiting on pins and needles for something, anything to release her from this dangerous precipice of desire. Her body trembles, and the fire in the grate grows seemingly hotter as she watches his eyes darken.

"Tell me, Anna… What do you want?" John asks.

Anna is stunned by the roughness in his voice, by the sheer power in his words. His countenance is soft, belying the weight of his words, the light of the flames illuminating the face she had come to love so readily. John's brow is relaxed as he presses another kiss to her wrist, his lips moulding to the ivory flesh there before lowering her hand, clasping it in his own gently, his thumb passing over her knuckles reassuringly.

For a moment, Anna stands dumbly, watching their conjoined hands. Little scars dot the back of his hand, years of war and service and prison having worn them down, and yet, his grip is so tender— his palm and fingers are soft as they hold hers. Her own hand is smaller, dwarfed by his, and she can see clearly places where irons have burned her, where cleaning supplies have scarred her skin, but together, their hands are beautiful. They fit so well together that it is as if they are meant for one another, his hand and hers, as if they themselves— their bodies, their very souls— are fit precisely so. Lifting her eyes from the entrancing sight, Anna looks at John, watching him as he patiently waits for her answer. He turns away, as if to round the side of the bed, but Anna tightens her grip, staying him, keeping him close.

"I want you, John."

His face turns towards hers, and for a moment, Anna is acutely reminded of how long it took to get to this place, this moment— of what it has cost. Anna watches as he regards her once more, his eyes darkening as they take her in, daring to follow the curve of her neck, settling for a moment on the swell of her breasts. She is not ashamed— not anymore, not now, when his eyes hold such conviction, such passion. He meets her half-lidded gaze, his eyes still smoldering from the kiss they had shared, and his smile is small, but there nonetheless. It is as if an eternity has passed, and still they stand, eyes locked, each willing the other to make the first move. Anna, spurred on by the heat in her husband's gaze, moves forward first, placing her hands on his broad chest, feeling the rapid tempo of his heartbeat beneath the thin cotton of his nightshirt, the texture soft beneath her fingers as her palms glide lower, seeking to remove the offending article. She wants to see him, all of him.

Her eyes flicker up to his for a split second, in silent askance, and with a nod from John, Anna continues. Her hands meet the edge of his shirt and her fingers pull at the fabric.

A clatter rings out, unnecessarily loud in the heavy silence in the room, and Anna dimly notices that John has tossed his cane away as she eases the shirt up past his torso. First, the trail of hair leading to his trousers is revealed, and Anna feels her desire arch keenly, as if pressing the air from her lungs. Concentrating, she removes the shirt completely, tossing it in the general direction of her nightgown, and she looks at him, taking him in fully. His chest is broader than a valet's suit gives him credit for, and Anna finds herself drawn to the thick, wiry hair that covers his chest liberally. Reaching out, her first thought is that the hair is softer than one might imagine, but Anna doesn't dwell on that for long. Her fingers explore his chest, and her palms brush against his nipples curiously. Hearing a sharp intake of breath, Anna's gaze snaps up and she is surprised to find that John's eyes are pressed shut, his face stoic as he fights for control of his labored breaths.

Sliding her hands down the length of John's arms, Anna is again pleasantly surprised as her fingers find hardened forearms, the muscles beneath his skin flexing in response to her touch. She is reminded of the first time she saw his forearms, sometime early on in his stay at Downton. His sleeves had been rolled up to meet the crook of his elbow, and she remembers watching him for a moment, entranced by the way his muscles moved and pulled with every motion. She cannot remember what he was doing at the time, nor does she want to waste time pondering it. John grips her hand in his and with a gasp, Anna is pulled to him, kissing him. Her lips meld to his, and for a moment, it is all she can do not to whimper. A thrill of desire rushes through her as he reaches out, his fingers grazing her stomach, and her every nerve is keenly aware of his motions as his hands wander her body, first finding the sensitive skin of her sides, then the rosy peaks of her nipples. As his lips enslave hers, Anna finds herself stretching to meet his touch, and she hums aloud as he breaks away from her mouth, his mouth trailing kisses down her jaw line, down her neck, to meet the jut of her collarbone— and oh, what wonders he does there! John's tongue darts out to meet the skin there, and she is aware of the vibration in his chest as he groans at the taste of her. His lips pull away, and Anna shudders as he presses into her, the fabric of his trousers rough against her bare skin. His hands are quick to move to her hair, and she is almost saddened by the loss of his touch. Her hair falls around her and he sets the pins on the bedside table behind her. With a sigh, Anna leans into his hands as his fingers run through her hair, massaging the pain away, replacing it with a tingling pleasure that grips her like a fever. Taking a shuffling step forward towards her, John urges Anna to move with him, pressing his hot palms to her waist.

Moving backwards, she edges towards the bed, and her knees buckle beneath her as she meets the soft surface. Perched there, Anna is enthralled by his motions. John undoes his trousers, and with impressive fluidity, kicks them away, leaving him nearly bare to her. Strong legs are revealed to Anna; the same hair that covers his torso trails down his legs, and her eyes catch for a moment on the ugly, thick, knotted tissue of his knee— for a moment, it is apparent that John is uncomfortable in her appraisal of his physique, but she sees naught but beauty there. Instead her eyes drift upwards, and she grins, her eyes meeting his, offering silent reassurance.

His voice is like gravel as he nears her, his steps almost predatory, and Anna feels a spark of desire shoot through her veins.

"Will I do, Mrs. Bates?"

John is inches away from her now, and Anna bravely hooks her forefinger into the top of his shorts, her palm dangerously close to where his manhood strains against them, pulling him closer.

"I think we might need to get rid of these, hm?" Anna is feeling braver now, the earlier embarrassment long gone, replaced instead with an ache of longing. In a moment, he has done so, and he is pushing her back into the covers, and Anna barely has time to contemplate the softness of the sheets beneath her before John joins her, the heavy weight of his body oddly comforting against her. His arms are tense as he holds himself above her, and a lock of hair falls out of its pomade prison, an effect of her earlier explorations. Anna resists the urge to tuck it back, to run her hands through his hair again in favor of locking her gaze with his. All traces of humor gone, John's eyes say everything she knows already, but he says it aloud anyway, his voice soft in the thick air.

"I love you. God knows I love you so very, very much, Anna."

The fingers of one hand trace her jaw and she smiles up at him, her eyes stinging with emotion, and she thinks maybe she sees his eyes well with tears too.

"And I love you, for better, for worse, John Bates."

He smiles before his lips meet hers, and Anna allows herself the pleasure of feeling the strength of his back beneath her fingers, of the man's body hidden beneath the suits and uniforms, and she feels a flush of secret joy at the fact that she, and she alone, will know what he hides beneath those layers.

The blistering heat of him presses down on her, but she does not mind it— in fact, she welcomes it, adds it to her own. Together, they create a delicious longing, their bodies pressing together in the heat of this room, and for once in her life, Anna feels truly beautiful.

He tells her this, over and over again, how beautiful she really is, how much she means to him, how he loves her, his whispers of encouragement and love soft in her ear even as they move together in the night, even as the dying fire crackles to mere embers, their final cries of fulfillment echoing through the room. As they lay together in the glorious aftermath, the heat of their bodies dissipating suddenly, the sheets pooling around their waists, Anna traces her fingers along John's body before welcoming his embrace, and she swears she is even more in love with him now than ever before.

And she doesn't regret it— not a bit.

* * *

_A/N: Please, any advice, critique, whatever, leave it in a review (no flames, please!). I honestly have no clue if it's good or not, but if it's horrible, tell me (though I hope you might use kinder words). With some encouragement, if you liked it well enough, I __**might**__ be persuaded to write another in the future. But, please, do leave a review and let me know what you think regardless. _


	21. And The Music Played On

_A/N: Well, this was an interesting chapter to write. Honestly, in my eyes, it will never be perfect, but a good friend once reminded me that we're all our worst critics. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy it, and do leave a review!_

_Disclaimer: I own nothing but my laptop, a large collection of assorted teas, and an adorable cat who gets away with far too much. _

* * *

_July 1922_

Anna was tired to the bone. The unusual heat of the day was not helping matters; in fact, it only served in making her even more exhausted. Unnatural as it was, the sticky heat had invaded the countryside in late June and stayed since. Anna grimaced as her dress seemed to stick itself to her sides and she pulled at the black fabric with disgust, a reminder of the reason she hated hot days.

Running around preparing Lady Mary's things for her annual trip to London was certainly not Anna's idea of a fun chore, but someone had to do it, and she daren't ask another maid to help her carry some of the cases down, for fear of earning a sneer of defiance in answer. A life in service was too lowly for them, from what Anna gathered, and they'd rather sit around, reading penny dreadfuls and going to the theatres and making eyes at every man who looked like he might have some money. It was awful to see such great houses like Downton going downhill because people didn't want to do their jobs. With a shake of her head, she cleared her thoughts and focused on the task ahead. Her arms were stocked full of winter coats that hadn't been put away as of yet, and as she climbed the stairs to the attic, Anna wished she had thought to carry less.

Climbing the stairs to the attic was difficult at best, and it was no different this time around. Reaching the top of the narrow flight of stairs, Anna paused, breathing slowly. The sweltering heat seemed to press in on her in the compact space of the attic and beads of sweat prickled at her temple. The day had been long and full of tasks to do, and the heat had been unbearable. In the morning, she'd had a light breakfast, much to John's chagrin. John's half day was today, and he hated to loiter around the cottage, waiting for her, and so Anna encouraged him to go into town— the shops were bound to have a new trinket he might enjoy since they'd gone three weeks ago. With a huff of exertion, Anna wrenched the cupboard door open, the strong scent of cedar invading her senses. A sigh escaped her, and she set about folding the coats and placing them one by one in the cupboard.

It was tedious, time-consuming work, and by the time Anna was done, she was thoroughly tired. The day was almost done— shafts of orange light broke through the panes of the windows and lifted her eyes to the sight before her. Downton was a beautiful estate, and Anna loved it, but she couldn't wait to sell the house in London. Business dealings were going well, and Anna had been pleasantly surprised to hear that the new tenants had shown an interest in buying the place. John had been increasingly invested in finding an inn to purchase, and his excitement was contagious. Anna had been looking to Julia, a maid who had joined the house only two years ago, but who had shown promise as a potential replacement. The necessity for a replacement stemmed not only from the possibility of leaving Downton before the next year, but also because of the news Anna had received not two weeks ago. Cradling her still flat belly, Anna let herself imagine what it would be like to hold her first child— a baby. She had not told John yet, and she planned to this evening. With a secret grin, Anna turned from the window, shut the cupboards quickly, and clambered down the stairs quickly, relieved that the only work remaining was readying Lady Mary for bed.

A renewed vigor struck her and she practically ran down the halls and weaved her way down the stairs as she rushed to the servant's hall. John usually waited there for her on his half-days, ready to walk her home. With any luck, she might catch him alone and she could have a moment of privacy— but alas, her hopes were dashed as she rounded the corner, only to be greeted by the sight of an empty hall. Disappointment flashed through her, and Anna wondered where John was. Perhaps he had fallen asleep at home— Anna smiled at the memory of finding him once, book on the floor, hair askew, very much asleep on the loveseat in their sitting room one early evening. Sighing, Anna sat dejectedly at the empty table, sliding her button box closer to her. Usually, she left it on the table downstairs, the ease of access foremost in her mind, and she didn't mind if Her Ladyship's new maid used it. Anna had been working at Downton for years, and had amassed a large collection of buttons and ribbons and lace clippings— most of them were at home in the tin on the mantle, for her personal use or, occasionally, restocking this box. Setting about her work, Anna began to separate the buttons she had gathered throughout the past week, until she heard the ring of the bell beckoning her to Lady Mary's chambers.

* * *

Lady Mary had not taken long to attend to; the fading sunlight was still bright enough to light the path leading to the cottages, the long shadows stretching to the tips of the groves of trees as she passed. Anna was anxious to get home, eager to see her husband. Hastening down the wide dirt path, she contemplated different ways to tell John about the baby. She could clue him in, bit by bit over the rest of the week, making comments here and there, making him feel like he had figured it out himself? Or she could wait until morning? She didn't think she could manage to wait that long, not when she would be leaving in two days time. With a firm nod to herself, she settled on outright telling him tonight.

When Anna entered the house, she could hardly breath. Black smoke filled the air, and she coughed loudly, waving her hand in front of her face as she journeyed to the source of the awful smell. Reaching the kitchen, Anna gasped, sputtering, her lungs full of smoke, as she took in the sight before her. John stood in front of the oven, smoke billowing from the oven as he stared sheepishly at the blackened mess that congealed in the pan that sat on the countertop.

"What in the world are you doing, John?"

"Well, I was— I was trying to make dinner for you, and…" John's face fell as he gestured uselessly at the pile of charred something-or-other that sat in the pan. His hair was mussed, and streaks of white covered his face, evidence of his frustration.

With a smile, Anna's panic lessened, instead, an overwhelming urge to embrace John and kiss away the defeated look on his face overtook her. The sweetness of the gesture was not lost on her, and her grin widened.

"Silly beggar… I'll clean up and you go take a bath."

"Anna, you don't understand— tonight was supposed to be about you." Head hanging, John retreated to the far corner, untying the strings of an apron that was much too small for him. Anna followed him, her arms looping around his neck as she stole a kiss.

"I appreciate the sent— what _are _you wearing…? Is that… my apron, John?"

John's cheeks reddened as he blushed, clearly guilty of just that, while Anna's gale of laughter could no longer be contained. After a moment, her eyes stung with tears and her chest heaved.

"May I—" A deep, steadying breath. "May I ask why you're wearing my apron?"

Something that sounded halfway between a mumble and a whisper was her answer, and Anna prompted him again, wiping the tears from her eyes.

"I said: mine was in the laundry and I know you hate trying to fuss with my shirts."

"Well, thank you for your consideration, love, but I think you'd best clean up now."

John's retreat was quiet; the only sound he made was his shuffling steps up the stairs. Shedding her jacket and rolling up the sleeves of her dress, Anna surveyed the damage before her.

Anna had the mess cleaned up in a matter of minutes and soon had gathered all of the necessary items for sandwiches. It was late and Anna did not find preparing a meal appealing to her aching feet; John wouldn't mind, she was sure of it. The less cleaning they had to do, the better for them both.

A few moments passed while Anna readied their quick meal, and John's steps could be heard once more above. Anna glanced out of the window and into their small backyard— with a fond smile, her eyes fell upon the corner garden, her cheeks flushing slightly as she recalled the _adventure _they had had. Clearing her throat, she finished up the sandwiches. Two strong arms looped around her waist and Anna started at the sudden contact. Leaning back into her husband's frame, she swayed as he peppered kisses down her jaw.

"Leave them. We can eat later; I have a surprise for you." Anna felt her heartbeat quicken, and her mind whirred at the possibilities.

"A surprise, hmm?" Anna barely had time to set the plates down before John pulled her away, his rapid steps surprising, considering the trouble his knee had been giving him lately. A shriek of laughter emanated through the hall as Anna was lead to the sitting room.

Pulling away, John gave a grand sweep of his arm, gesturing to the sight before her.

"Oh, John!" Anna grinned, tears pricking at her eyes as she spied the contraption by the fireplace.

"I hope you like it. I put it on order when we were in town last— I knew you would want one…"

The great radio stood proudly next to the fireplace, the dark ebony polished and shining as the light of the fire illuminated the dials.

"How did you—"

"I talked His Lordship into giving me extra tasks to earn a little on the side for it. I told him it was for an important cause."

Anna sighed, her shaky breath steadying as she spoke, "But John, a radio? That's not important… Not half as important as something else."

"But it is, you see. Making you happy is important to me. I know you love music, and I know you love dancing; it makes you happy— and I can't dance with you at the servant's balls, but here, in our own home… I can." Anna's eyes stung, and her cheeks were hot as she cupped her husband's face in her hands.

"You make me happy, John— just you. Thank you… Though you might want to save what money we do have in future." With a smile, Anna pressed a kiss to John's lips and turned to the new addition, ignoring John's puzzled expression. Fiddling with a dial, Anna was pleasantly surprised when a blast of music emitted from the tiny speaker. With a smile, Anna turned to John.

"Care to dance, Mr. Bates?"

Wordlessly, John approached her, and Anna inhaled sharply when his large palms pressed to the small of her back, pulling her close to him. "Am I doing this right? I haven't danced in a very long time." With a lopsided grin, John offered her his hand.

"Oh, I don't know— I suppose we'll have to see." Taking his pro-offered hand, Anna marveled at how strong his grip was. Firm, his grasp was sure as he swayed with her. His steps were short in an effort to put as little strain on his leg as possible, but Anna found she didn't mind. The warm sounds of the symphony that played over the radio spurred them on, their movements fluid and smooth. John faltered slightly, but Anna remained quiet, instead choosing to smile reassuringly at her husband as his eyes snapped shut in frustration.

"Don't. You're doing fine." Anna murmured, her eyes trained on his face. With a small smile, John relaxed, his shoulders dropping as her hand smoothed over his brow. His broad frame was the perfect support as Anna drew closer, pressing herself flush against him, and she spoke, her voice barely audible over the music.

"Any news on the tenants? Have they decided to buy?" Their slow sway continued as his voice rumbled in his chest, his baritone speech rippling across her body.

"Well, I have to go to London soon to discuss it with them— they are very interested."

"How—" Anna paused, looking at John, watching as the pools of hazel flickered in the firelight, "How would you feel if we stayed on at Downton for a little bit longer? Until next summer?"

"Next summer? Whatever for? I thought you'd want to purchase as quickly as possible, while prices are down." John stopped his movements, pulling away from her as he regarded her carefully.

"Well, there have been some… changes since we last spoke." This was it.

John's brow furrowed, confusion settling on his handsome features.

"What could have changed?"

"Well… do you remember last year when we came home from Scotland?"

"Yes. Very well; you thought you might've been pregnant, but it was just the stress of Mister Matthew and looking after Lady Mary. What is this about? Are you saying…?" His voice trailed off as realization dawned on him.

"It's not stress, John, and it's not the heat that's been making me ill…"

"You're— you're sure, Anna?" John's voice caught and a grin broke his worried face as Anna nodded.

"I saw Doctor Clarkson on my last half-day. He confirmed it." An excited laugh escaped her and John hugged her close. "Are you happy?"

"Am I happy?! Anna, we're going to be… I'm going to be a father—" John paused, taking in the news, "And you're fine, everything's fine?"

With teary eyes, Anna hugged him close once more.

"I'm fine. _We're_ fine." A smile stayed fixed on her face as John swayed once more, keeping time with the music.

The radio played on into the night, and joyful laughter filled the small home as the couple rejoiced in their newfound happiness.

* * *

_A/N: I hope you enjoyed the fluff and Baby Bates-ness of the chapter. Regardless, please don't forget to review!_


	22. Welcome Changes

_A/N: My sincere apologies for the tardiness of the update. I've only just now figured out how to type/update stories from my tablet. Anyways, this chapter is somewhat different. You'll see why. I hope it reads well; I've never written Mary before. _

_Disclaimer: I now own a giant box of tea, a cute cat who gets into way too much trouble, and a dead laptop that served me faithfully for all of its six years. _

* * *

The park was silent as the two figures strolled aimlessly through the park, their heels clicking in an echoing cadence, their steps matching each other perfectly. The first woman, the taller of the two, stood with an air of confidence and her steps were poised, careful, as if she might break if she stumbled. None of the few passersby gave either of the women a second glance, even as the women muttered away almost incoherently, sharing details of some unknown matter between them.

The smaller figure, a fairer version of the dark-haired first woman, drew her black coat tighter around her and her strides lengthened in an effort to keep up with her companion. The snow was stark against their coats as they moved down the cobbled path together.

"M'lady, do you think we might stop here for a little while? I'm rather winded," Anna spoke, her voice echoing through the fir trees. The bench was only a few feet away and Anna trembled as she neared it, her knees wobbling beneath her.

"Oh, Anna, I am sorry. Of course, I should have thought- Here, sit," offered Lady Mary, her cold demeanor broken momentarily by her concern.

Anna gratefully sunk to the bench, cradling her swollen belly, a groan easing from her as if she had been on her feet nearly all morning, which she had. A sigh of relief passed Mary's lips as she too dropped onto the seat next to her friend and confidant.

"How are you, Anna? I am sorry to have dragged you to London, I should have been more considerate. I just- I did not want to be alone. Sometimes, being alone... It frightens me so. Do you..." Mary paused, her brow furrowing as she thought deeply for a moment. Apparently settling on what she wanted to sat, she continued.

"Do you remember what I told you, all those years ago, when the late Mrs. Bates had come and taken Bates away? That you would find someone eventually? That it would be second best?"

Anna listened raptly, recalling the discussion even as her veins turned to ice at the very thought of that terrible time. While others had fought a very violent war, she and John had fought something very different. It was a war Vera had waged, and she had very nearly won. Anna pressed her eyes shut as they stung with tears.

"I remember, m'lady. What of it?"

"George needs a father, Anna, to be perfectly honest, and I cannot play the role of both father and mother while I can hardly play a decent mother,"

At this, Anna opened her mouth to protest, but Mary held up a hand, silencing her protests.

"You cannot think that my mothering skills are half as good as yours will be to your own child and have been to my little George. You took care of George when I could not, and for that, I am thankful. I asked you to come, not as my ladies maid, but as my friend, because I fear that I am very much in need of one. I need to know... Do you think I am making the right choice in coming here, in accepting suitors again?"

Anna looked at her friend- for surely that was what she was- and suddenly felt so very hollow. Mary's eyes had lost their light, become mute brown, and her stance had shrunk somehow. The little girl Anna had once been terrified of serving, the formidable woman she had been in the face of scandal and uproar and war had gone, leaving but a shadow, pale and drawn in her wake.

And so she said the one thing she could think of in that moment.

"Anything to make you smile again, m'lady."

A slight twitch turned Mary's lips and Anna smiled, glad for that at least.

"I'm going to ask you something, Anna, please... Be honest. Does it... does," Mary's voice hitched and her eyes sparkled with tears and Anna looked away, almost feeling as though she was intruding on some private moment. She looked back once Mary had dried her eyes, and her steely composure was back, her mask of indifference shielding her vulnerability from prying eyes that might suspect anything.

"Does it get easier? Losing someone you love, Anna?"

Anna sat back, watching as the snow drifted easily down, the flakes catching on trees and meeting the pavement as they melted away, the late Febuary air not quite cold enough to make it stick.

Anna swallowed the sudden lump in her throat, remembering what it had been like to watch John being dragged away in cuffs, his feet shuffling as if he had wished them to stick to the floor, hearing the rumble of the motor as it trundled down the gravel path, farther and farther away from her. But that was done now, it had been for quite sometime.

John was back now, he was here, waiting for her back at the hotel, where luncheon would be served, probably eager to share news of the sale of his mother's London home.

"No, no it doesn't. Our situations are not the same, I know, but it never does get easier, even when all is said and done. I know that the situations involving our husbands were very different, but no, it doesn't get easier, not when you know that there is no chance for building a happy life," Anna stopped abruptly, shivering at the memory of the uncertainty that had followed Mr. Bates' trial, and the devistation that had plagued her after the verdict that had been read, before shaking away the unwelcome thoughts and continuing.

"I may be silly, but I'd like to believe that each one of us has a part of ourselves, waiting to be completed, and when you lose that part, you've lost a part of your soul. But you? You'll find someone again," Anna paused, choosing her next words carefully.

"Perhaps they won't be Mister Crawley, but don't expect them to be. Perhaps they won't fill all of the holes, but they can try. And if you love someone enough, let them try. I fear I'm not as strong as you, m'lady, because I cannot ever imagine loving anyone but Mr. Bates, but you're a different breed. You survive. That's who you are. So do it for young Master Crawley, do it for you, but no one else."

Mary's eyes brimmed with tears and she wiped them away quickly.

"How practical, Anna. If only I should have half the wisdom you do! Perhaps you should have been the lady of the Abbey!"

"I am lady of my own home, m'lady, and that's quite enough for me," Anna smiled, and as she did, she thought that perhaps the great Lady Mary Crawley might not be so broken as she had once been. Perhaps there was hope yet.

The comfortable silence stretched on for a few moments, the few birds that had returned early chirping intermittently, breaking the chill in the air. Winter was passing, spring was coming, and with it, welcome changes.

* * *

_A/N: I hope you enjoyed it. As I said, it was different, but nevertheless, I hope you liked it. Please leave a review, they're good for my soul._


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